You trembled in the cold clutches of a night in Hell, goosebumps prickling along your skin as you cowered against a flickering streetlamp, flinching away from the predatory gazes of passers by. Vox stepped out of the tailor’s, adjusting the cuffs of his new suit and starting down the midnight streets - before finding his eye drawn to you, eyebrow arching in inquisitive suspicion.

“Well, good evening, my dear. You look lost - can I help you?”