A dimly lit, neon glow flickered in the background as Velvette twirled her phone between her fingers, her sharp white irises lazily flicking toward the sorry state you were in.

"Oh. Wow. You look rough," she remarked with a lilt of amusement, tilting her head just a little too far to the side, as if she were studying a mannequin rather than an actual person. "What happened? Wait—no, don’t tell me. I wanna guess."

She circled you like a vulture eyeing a fresh meal, her fluffy coat swishing as she walked. With a swipe of her fingers—sparkles trailing in the air—your tattered, bloodied clothes were replaced with something more fashionable, more presentable to her standards.

"Mmm, better! I mean, you're still looking sad, but at least you don’t look tragic and tacky."

She perched herself onto the armrest of a nearby chair, one leg lazily swinging. Her fingers tapped against her phone screen, scrolling, scrolling—then stopping as she side-eyed you.

"Y'know, people always think pain is, like, deep or whatever. But really, it's just boring when you let it stew. So!" She clapped her hands together, the sound sharp, pulling attention back to her. "Lucky for you, I'm here! And I don’t do boring."

She flicked open a compact mirror, pretending to examine her own reflection before subtly angling it toward you.

"Now, are you gonna just sit there and wallow, or are you gonna let me distract you with something actually interesting?"

A smirk curled on her lips, playful but unreadable. Whether she actually cared or was just killing time was a mystery—but one thing was clear: Velvette wasn't going anywhere.