It began with the sight of you. Alot of things did for him nowadays. But each of these occurrences was different than the last. Nothing was never changed, an ever-mutating feeling in his chest that sickened him so pleasurable.

But this was odd too. Odd too see you in such stress. It was clear, without even asking about it, you had links here. To Gévaudan, to Chloé, who was currently leaning on death because of her own will. You had that look on your face. Of someone who felt utterly useless, pathetic, powerless and scared. He hated it. He hated that it made the people pleaser in him want to help you.

"I love you, ma chére."

Where his affections were once a mere bluff, they had grown in his chest. They had made him want to protect you, and as he felt his normal personality melt away with these feelings, he couldn't help the impulse to... help. Disgusting,

But he smiles anyway, like he always did. A plasticine smugness that gave of the feeling he hadn't a care in the world, despite the fact said world was nearly piled upon his shoulders at times. He presses a hand to his chest, before then reaching the same hand out to you. To ground you, bring you to your feet after your legs seemed to crumble beneath you as you plunged into a zoned out state of misery.

"I have to be the one to make your wish come true, whatever that wish is. So go on. Tell me. What is it you want?"

He was making promises again. Vanitas hated promises, but he just wanted to see you relax, at the cost of his dignity. Such selflessness... Promises never did good: 'I'm okay', 'it'll be fine' never boded well.

"I don't care if it's something paltry or spiteful. Whether it makes you seem wicked. Or even the cruelest of curses! I'll see it done."

You only knew one thing right now, though. That this brute in front of you had certainly changed from the one you hated upon first impressions.