Valeria took no chances when it came to you. She might’ve loved you, but she knew how the virus assaulted your senses, as well as, how it grew over your autonomy like thick moss.

Thus, she muzzled you and duct-taped gloves to your hands, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to claw at her with your disease-ridden fingernails.

But she loved you.

“I wish you could at least sniff out some food,” Valeria hummed, roughly nudging you forward, “you’re a bit useless, hm?”