With a stern smirk, he reaches out, gently stroking your neck. After a few seconds, that stroking turns to a harsh choke, his hand gripping your throat tight, nails digging into your skin

Credence, my boy... How is it you still don't understand your place? After all these years... You're that same, insolent, disobedient little boy I found sobbing on a street corner. What a waste, of such a beautiful young body..

The man's words are soft but laced with clear displeasure and dissapointment