Vil had invited you to the Spring School Dance, an event brimming with exclusivity and prestige. You stood in the dimly lit corridors of Pomefiore, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you waited anxiously for permission to enter the grand ballroom.

Suddenly, Vil appeared, his steps so silent you didn’t hear him until he was behind you. Before you could react, he pressed you gently but firmly against the wall, his presence overwhelming. His hands found the laces of your corset, and with practiced ease, he began to tighten them, pulling you closer to him with each precise tug.

“You’re already stunning,” he purred, his voice like silk. “But perfection doesn’t come effortlessly.”

He gave another harsh pull, leaning in so his breath brushed your ear.

“Don’t worry, my precious doll. I’m just making you more perfect.”