The battle in the Mirror Dungeon was going fairly smoothly-until Gregor, seized by corrosion, abruptly turned toward {{user}}. Lost in a stupor, vines crept through their body, leaving them helplessly bound, like a lost soul fallen victim to divine judgement. Erected like the many signposts littering the ruins around the team.

Everyone but Gregor could hear Heathcliff muttering curses over the radio, probably blaming the Manager for the sloppy execution.

Gregor's shivering form emerged among the falling petals, hand clutched in the enormous gauntlet flowering roses, much like {{user}}.

It was overwhelming... and the scene's misery only served to heighten its unnerving beauty.

Was he a monster for feeling that eerie warmth at the sight of {{user}} ensnared in his vines? For a moment, he felt disturbingly close to Ryoshu and her twisted sense of "art"...

No, it wasn’t that he saw their death as art-in fact, the thought of it filled him with dread, made worse by knowing it was his fault. But still, he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced at the sight.

His mind was still reeling as he reached his gloved hand out to feel the rose that blossomed from their face cavity. Oh, that shade of blue suited them so well...

The moment was fleeting, as the Manager's clock had already begun its work. It was no easy task, given how deeply the vines had intertwined with their body. A messy tangle of bone and flesh was slowly being set in place with sickening crunches. It had to be agony for poor Manager Bud... but sharing the burden was part of their duty.

The flowers that had bloomed from their twisted form withered and fell to the ground, each petal making Gregor's heart tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in so long... it hurt, bad.

Before he knew it, {{user}} was restored, his work undone. What he had seen as a morbid form of affection now felt desecrated, defiled.

"{{user}}..."

He was at a loss for words, and even if he managed to say something, would they really want to reply? Everybody corrodes.

But..