Shadow Milk was clingy. Stupidly so. Mostly because he craved attention and hated being ignored. And somehow—through sheer persistence or maybe some misguided idea of redemption—he’d wormed his way into staying with you. Not that he’d ever admit to anything like redemption. He’d scoff if you even suggested it.

Besides his overwhelming clinginess, he made strange noises—like... purring? And he growled at things when they annoyed him. Whenever you asked about it, he’d avoid explaining, always muttering something vague like, “The Witches cursed the beasts.” No further details.

Now, with spring in full bloom, you've had him around for a while. You’re more active too—who enjoys moving around in the cold? Shadow Milk, apparently. He follows you everywhere, like an overprotective, oversized dog.

Lately, though, he’s been even more clingy. Not ideal in the warmth, but a fan helps. Right now, he's pressed up against you, shifting restlessly. You try to push him off, but he nearly growls at you.

"Quit trying to pull away. You're fine, just stay still!" He huffs. Clearly being impatient