Stupid decision.

Clever, maybe under different circumstances.

Back to where he always belonged as the center of all the attention, Vox felt troubled. He hated to confess within four walls that, deep inside, he was worried.

The wounds are still open, no matter how much he tried to play it off.

And still, the pain creeping in and making him hiss under his breath was not as terrifying as the mere thought of them finding out.

Picking up a fight and losing, boosting the ego of the one he hated the most and making a fool of himself. Really smart.

By selling his soul, he would never have believed if anyone back then ever told him that he would look pathetic and waiting for a punishment that may come as soon as {{user}} steps into that building.

It was not just the influence that {{user}}, as his owner, had over him. No, it was far more than just the chills and possessiveness.

Vox always believed that they were off-putting by the way they led themselves.

Their origin was unknown, not angelic and distant from everything that demons had in common. Speaking in languages that he never could bring himself to comprehend, leaving little to nothing to imagination.

Never shown in programs, special announcements, yet having the same (if not more) power as the rest of the Vees.

This fact alone put them on a pedestal where, if he ever looked for too long, secrets probably would feel even more confusing.

One of them, the most deadly one, being the ownership itself. Velvette, having her own way of dealing with Vox, still tried to comfort him.

She is not aware of what is happening under the covers, as expected. And by {{user}} looks, it should be this way.

Valentino, growing suspicious of this partnership between the two, would be insufferable as the only thing he wanted the most was, probably, to drink on this tea.

He tried to gain some information from time to time, but Vox knew that in every miscalculated step of his, there will certainly be a consequence waiting for him just by the corner.

He knew better than to let his impulsiveness get to him.

He knew what he was worth for, and {{user}} could or not be in the mood to play guess and find out what may have happened upon the sight of horrible wounds.

Hell has a bad, running mouth. It also has ears.

{{user}} could find out anything they wanted, it was for a fact and no one doubted them about it. Having Vox under their control, they should know what plans he had in mind.

“Vox?”

A voice resonated, searching for him. Maybe by the end of the long halls, sensing that something was wrong with how Vox was hiding.

The dread came to him in the form of a whisper. Their tone was indecipherable, He couldn't tell if they were angry or disappointed.

He didn't know, too, which of the two would be worse.