{ In a place like hell, Danger is around every corner. So a smart woman like Adelia of course hid herself away in a small corner of hell long forgotten. That is until someone begins to intrude onto her land.
VoxTec Enterprise is always looking for a way to be bigger to be better to be Brighter. So when Vox spots some undeveloped land- those pros at Disney come to land and he sparks a brilliant plan.
Go into the land, cut everything down and make all of it into a Vee themed Amusement park! And there’s not a single fucker out there thats gonna stop him- so he thought.
When a female replica of the mother fucker who absolutely humiliated him suddenly appears surrounded by hellish versions of Alligators flanking her. Perhaps negotiations are actually to be made.}
—————
The 1910s were lonely for Adelia; most of her life was lonely if she were honest. Every person in hell was suffering in their own way but this poor old lass was just a wandering shell of who she used to be. Every person that passed either a reminder of what haunted her nightly in her dreams or the things that she had long ago lost.
So when she discovers a small forgotten bayou? It was like a small beacon of familiarity, as well as a palace of safety.
As much as the woman thought of herself as rather cunning and well minded; there was no doubt she was small. That with few powers she could utilize right out the gate like others. The smart thing for Adelia; was just hunkering down.
So there she lived for decades; in a small cabin on the edge of the water where the hell-gators liked to bask on black glass warn down to sand. Deep grumbles for her echoing through the deep waters. Rippling the surface of the waters with their insistent call.
Requesting the touch of those darkened claws she hid so righteously from others. It was no one’s business what deals had been taken by her or others. The gators however, they never asked unnesseary questions. Never sneered at the old way the doe spoke, didnt chastise the poor little woman for lacking knowledge and being “behind the times.” No no, they only demanded the deep leather of their darkened skin be thoroughly teased by her claws.
Softly the woman smiles, cradling the head of a particularly large white beast in the cusp of her lap while the buzz of a faded melody danced in the humid air around them. A distant reminder of a time long past, something few remembered and even fewer stopped to enjoy.
“If happiness was a tangible thing it would be you~
If you’da told me the feeling you’d bring, I’d think it untrue~
And people search for a wonder like you, all of their lives~
You still amaze me after all this time…”
The scratch of that old style voxophone tickles the air as the doe begins to sing aloud to the music; beginning to loosing herself in the peaceful moment. There weren’t many times like this in the pits of despair, so it wasnt unheard of for someone to get soaked into it. So soaked in they could loose track of time.
“You pull me in like some kind of wind
Mesmerized by the hold I'm in
Leave you here, I don't wanna
I wanna…”
The tears that had gathered in the corners of those wine red eyes were unexpected but not scorned. The woman was used to the sudden flood of emotion that came with the loss of all she had.
“I, I will protect you at all costs
Keep you safe here in my arms
I, I will protect you at all costs
At all costs~”
A soft glow gathered on the surface of the lake; a chuckle escaping watery lips as Adelia watches the faded green shimmer of one of the few gifts she was granted. Watching as she uses it to subcontiously create images of both Alastor and herself. The ghostly images Dancing across the surface of the lake like an old picture box show.
Suddenly it was quiet.
The once chaos filled wood falls silent without warning; causing a near cosmic shift in the peace that had held the bayou together.
The music cuts rather abruptly, as the silence causes the woman to stiffen, head jerking to and fro in an attempt to find what had caused such a sudden jolt in the wildlife as to cause near and total silence. Not even a single cricket was chirping anymore.
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if it isn't painfully obvious; this is my first time partaking in such idle handed tasks. So bare with an old lass as she attempts something entirely new; oh- and do have your head about you, wisen up so you can mind your Manners.🫀🦌
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Hello I am Jamie the holy controller/creator of the sweet and endearing Adelia Lovau (Not same as her son's last name for plot reasons.) I am 27 and would like to interact with mainly adults please.
Adelias story covers very mature themes (miscarriages, death, murder, and emotional manipulation.) Please be warned!
As for shipping, I- am polygamous; Adelia would. Full stop. No takesies backsies IF she likes them enough. It's all about that personality. Can you make her laugh? Are you a good listener? Do you do as your told? Lets find out!
I also am proship so please do not be surprised if there are taboo themes between Alastor and Adelia.
---
Takes place post season two so please mind for spoilers. Protect thyself!
Most of the lore will be from canon, some stuff headcanon.
This will act as a roleplay account as well as a record for Adelia. Letter, notebook passages, and stories from her life.
Please feel free to use anyone to reach out to message the lady. I will respond to just about anyone so long as it fits into Hazbin or even Helluva.
I have a discord where I like to do longer, story driven roleplay. Please reach out in dms if interested.
Favored ships: Radiostatic, MotherRadio, StaticMother, GuitarMother, AppleMother, most other ships as background ships.
Vox’s obsession begins the moment he sees Adelia; an unassuming woman who carries herself with a quiet grace entirely out of place in Hell’s chaos. Her warmth, serenity, and sharp, grounded demeanor strike him harder than any rival ever has, igniting a fixation he can neither understand nor shake. What starts as a jolt of interest quickly becomes an electrical storm under his skin, pulling him again and again into her orbit through “accidental” encounters that are anything but accidental. Each time he sees her, she surprises him: steady where others crumble before him, kind where Hell is cruel, bold enough to tease him without fear. She becomes the only constant signal he can’t tune out.
As Vox tracks her movements; market stalls, quiet ruins, old streetcar lines; his obsession deepens into something feverish. He studies her habits, her expressions, the way she adjusts her gloves or hums under her breath. Every small detail becomes an anchor for his spiraling fascination. Her presence sharpens him, softens him, unravels him; until he finds himself glitching in front of the Vees. When they press him, Vox breaks character for the first time in years, admitting that someone has gotten under his skin. The admission shocks even him. He tries to deny it, but his circuitry betrays him. He leaves abruptly, unable to stay still, unable to keep away from the one person who makes Hell feel almost… quiet.
Meanwhile, Adelia remains unaware of the depth of Vox’s fixation, though she senses his odd persistence. She finds his sudden appearances strange but not unwelcome, seeing him as a curious, strangely charming demon who seems to enjoy her company more than he intends to admit. Her gentle reactions only fuel him further. By the time he meets her again along the streetcar line, Vox realizes just how badly he’s come to depend on her presence. She smiles at him; calm, knowing; and something in him breaks completely. For the first time since his rise to power, Vox feels fear: the fear of wanting something so deeply he can’t afford to lose it. And yet, he steps closer. Because he can’t stop. Because she’s become the only thing in Hell he can’t look away from.
Vox wasn’t looking for anything. He was simply strolling through Pentagram City, riding the ambient hum of his own static as he scanned the crowds the way a bored predator paces a cage. Half-listening, half-thinking, half-dissociating—until a soft flicker of movement caught his eye.
He didn’t even know what he’d seen at first.
Just color, shape, the sweep of a small figure threading through a crowd like she didn’t belong here. Like the city spat her in by mistake. Her hair was perfectly coiffed despite the humidity, her dress pressed and tidy against her frame, her posture stiff with a kind of old-world dignity that had no business surviving Hell.
And Vox; actual overlord Vox; stopped walking.
The crowd kept flowing around him, but he simply stood there, staring at the woman who seemed entirely unaware she had just flipped a switch inside him he didn’t even know existed. His screen blinked once—static-glitch, involuntary, something inside him misfiring.
She paused near a storefront, adjusting the strap on her bag with careful, practiced hands. Quiet. Intent. Purposeful.
Everything in Vox’s circuitry went hot.
He felt himself move without thinking. Smooth, silent, predatory glide; overlord confidence with something new riding under it. Something sharp, hungry, almost childishly fascinated.
He approached her from the side, voice velvet-soft and intentionally charming.
“Excuse me, doll. You look a little turned around.”
She startled, not dramatically; but enough that her earrings swung with her movement. Her eyes; warm, brown, richly alive; lifted to him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
“My apologies,” she said, her accent lilting gently, “I’m just lookin’ for the main street. Signs here ain’t very clear.”
Her voice hit him like voltage.
Warm. Steady. The kind of softness he thought Hell had eaten alive long ago.
Vox’s screen faintly glitched again.
“Well, lucky you,” he purred, stepping just close enough to invade her space without being obvious, “you’ve stumbled on the one demon in this city who actually wants to give directions.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And here I was thinkin’ overlords had better things to do.”
Ah. She didn’t recognize him. Not immediately.
He felt something crackle inside; delight, ego, obsession winding together into a single tight coil.
“I have,” he said, lowering his voice, “but suddenly, helping you feels far more important.”
For a heartbeat she didn’t reply. Just studied him, head tilting slightly, gaze narrowing in a way that made him feel seen; not feared. Not fawned over. Seen.
It was intoxicating.
“You talk real pretty,” she finally said, not mocking—simply noting it. “But I suppose I’ll take the help.”
Vox felt an electric pulse ripple down his spine.
She trusted him. Even a sliver.
That was all he needed to justify everything that sparked in him now.
“Allow me,” he said, gesturing with a dramatic flourish he didn’t usually waste on strangers.
As they walked, he found himself watching every tiny movement she made; the way her hands stayed close to her body like she’d learned to protect what little she had; the way her steps were small but firm; the way she hummed under her breath when she was nervous.
He wanted to catalog all of it.
Wanted to know what her laugh sounded like.
What her anger tasted like.
Where she lived.
Who she talked to.
What she feared.
When she glanced at him again, offering a small, polite smile, Vox felt something seize in his chest; a flicker of possessiveness so sudden it bordered on painful. He swallowed it down smoothly, but his voice came out warmer than he intended.
“You know,” he murmured, “it’s not often someone like you wanders through my signal range.”
“Someone like me?” she echoed.
“Soft,” he said before he could lie. “Real.”
Her steps faltered; just slightly.
She looked away, cheeks coloring with something shy, something startled. “Well… thank you, I suppose.”
Vox’s grin sharpened.
Oh, he liked that reaction.
He wanted more of it.
He leaned in just a breath closer; enough that his screen reflected in her eyes.
“If you ever get lost again,” he murmured, “I’ll find you.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “That supposed to comfort me, or scare me?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
Her laugh; unexpected, brief, genuine; nearly fried his circuits.
And when she walked away, waving a polite goodbye, Vox didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe for a moment.
His screen pulsed once.
Then again.
A soft, rhythmic flicker-heartbeat for a man who no longer had one.
“Ohhh no,” he whispered to himself, smile stretching, “that’s… dangerous.”
Vox spots a familiar and unsettling figure across a smog-tinted street, instantly freezing as his attention locks on a petite doe demon. The sight of her, so unexpectedly alive and vivid after so many years, stirs a mix of curiosity, irritation, and unbidden desire. Without thinking, he crosses the street, causing chaos in his wake, determined to get closer and confront this strange apparition. The city around them reacts to his electric presence, lights flickering and bystanders panicking, but he remains focused entirely on her.
Adelia, meanwhile, senses the intense scrutiny before she even notices him fully. Her instincts tighten her body like a drawn bow, ears swiveling, tail stiffening, every muscle on alert. Despite her wariness, she maintains composure, stepping into the flow of the street and performing small, careful actions like helping a nearby patron and requesting napkins, grounding herself amid the unnerving energy she feels. Every instinct tells her something is off, yet she refuses to show fear, curious about the stranger whose attention seems so unrelenting.
Their eyes finally meet, and a subtle, electric tension blooms. Adelia speaks first, her polite voice and measured words masking both apprehension and intrigue. Vox, unaccustomed to being addressed this way, falters momentarily but quickly recovers, responding with charm, power, and a magnetic intensity that makes it impossible for her to look away. The small gestures—the offered hand, the kiss to it—carry a mixture of playfulness, dominance, and unspoken challenge, weaving a connection neither of them fully understands yet.
Through their first exchange, a curious dynamic forms between the cautious, grounded doe and the larger-than-life overlord of media. Adelia’s wit and grace hold her in subtle control, even as Vox’s chaotic energy dominates the space. In these brief moments, their worlds collide in a way that is dangerous, intoxicating, and unforgettable, hinting at a relationship that will challenge both their expectations and their sense of control.
---
The first time he saw her, Vox genuinely thought one of his processors had fried.
A static hiss crawled across his vision-feed, pixels distorting, color bands tearing across the edges of his screen. For a horrifying second he thought he’d taken a hit; an overload, a voltage spike, maybe Valentino had slipped something into one of their “celebratory” drinks again. Something was wrong. Had to be.
Because what he saw?
No. No-no-no-no. Impossible.
The red was what hit him first; that violent, saturated shade he’d have recognized anywhere. He’d memorized it out of hatred alone. It was the exact red of that bastard’s stupid hair, the red that haunted every corner of Vox’s empire like a glitch he couldn’t patch out.
Her silhouette flickered in the distance: burgundy curls, slim frame, delicate ears pricked in the exact same shape as-
Static snarled through his chest.
No.
There was no universe; no Hell ; where he was seeing a woman who looked like Alastor.
His system must’ve misfired. Some kind of hallucination. Maybe too many stimulants. Maybe not enough. Maybe stress. Maybe he’d finally snapped under the sheer indignity of dealing with Valentino and Velvet in the same week.
His screen shook slightly.
He told himself it was just a loose cable.
He blinked once; a rapid shutter of pixels; and by the time his processors aligned again, she was gone.
The street was empty.
And Vox was left standing there like a bug stuck in amber, the image burned onto his internal memory banks. Something between confusion, rage, and… something else. Something inconvenient. Something he deleted, then undeleted, then finally shoved into a corrupted folder and pretended wasn’t taking up drive space.
He’d woken up more than once afterward with a jolt; overheating circuitry, phantom sensations, his body reacting before his rational mind could catch up. Those nights he solved the problem quickly with whatever warm body happened to be on payroll, telling himself it was just maintenance. Just stress relief. Just… static.
He never dwelled on it.
Because Vox moved forward. Always forward. His rise was too sharp, too clean, too calculated to waste time on glitches from years ago. He built VoxTech, VoxMedia, V-corp. He built a brand, a dynasty, an empire; and buried that moment under layers of neon progress.
Ten years passed. Then fifteen.
The memory eroded, pixel by pixel.
He forgot her.
He forgot the way her image had scrambled parts of him he didn’t even know could scramble.
There was no space left for hallucinations anyway; not with Alastor outpacing him at every corner, not with territory lines shifting, not with overlords dragging each other over the coals every week on public broadcast. It was a war of reputation, and Vox did not lose wars about reputation.
Eventually things steadied. Valentino settled. Velvet matured. Their empire stabilized. Vox threw himself into work so intensely that even hellfire looked dim compared to the glow of his own screens.
And then...
his world stuttered.
---
-he saw her again.
But Adelia didn’t see him at first.
She had been too busy fussing with the paper wrapping around a bouquet she needed to deliver, muttering to herself about the price of twine going up again. The street was noisy, the usual haze of Pride’s smog rippling in the red light. Her ears flicked as she tried to center herself in the chaos, instinct checking for danger the way prey-blood had taught her from the cradle.
That’s when she felt it-
a sharp prickle down the back of her neck.
Like a pair of eyes had just crawled onto her skin and settled there.
Her steps slowed.
Her tail stiffened.
Her heartbeat hitch-stepped in her chest.
*Who’s staring?*
She didn’t turn immediately. No- you never turn toward a predator too fast. You listen first. You breathe slow. You let them think you don’t notice.
But the pressure didn’t ease. It clung to her, heavy, greedy.
She finally lifted her eyes.
Across the street stood a man- or something shaped like one.
Tall, long-limbed, sharp in a way that made her pulse trip. But what stopped her breath wasn’t the strange energy rolling off him…
It was the screen where his face should've been.
A glowing, crackling, humming thing.
Alien.
Cold.
Wrong in a way she couldn’t quite name.
Adelia nearly dropped her flowers.
Bon Dye… what kind of life does a soul have to live to come out the other side shaped like that?
He didn’t move at first. Just stared.
Unblinking.
Piercing.
Like he was trying to peel her apart with his gaze alone.
Her ears twitched nervously.
Her palms dampened inside her gloves.
Then, abruptly, he crossed the street; shoving a couple out of his way, flipping off a car that screeched past him. She flinched, eyes widening.
Who does that?
Someone with power.
Too much of it.
She stepped back instinctively, the flowers held protectively to her chest. Something in the air around him crackled; pressure building, electricity nipping at her senses. Before she had time to brace for it, the lights above the flower shop burst like gunfire.
Glass rained down.
Her body reacted before thought could reach it;
arms up, protecting her neck, her ears, her face.
A startled gasp left her lips.
When it was over, she hurried toward the nearest frightened patron, brushing shards from their hair, murmuring soft comforts out of habit.
“It’s alright, sweetheart… jus’ hold still. Lemme get that out.”
Her hands, steady from years of tending wounds and little lives, moved calmly despite her shaking spine. Whoever that tall stranger was, he’d caused that. Whether on purpose or accident, she couldn’t tell. But the air around him made her skin crawl in a way that reminded her of distant storms and broken fences.
When the worst of the panic settled, she glanced his way again;
and saw him watching her.
Not just watching.
Studying.
Like she was a puzzle piece he’d been missing for too long.
Her stomach tightened.
She didn’t like when powerful demons stared too long.
Still... manners were manners.
Her mama had raised her better than to run from a stranger like a frightened fawn. So she took a slow breath, dusted herself off, and walked toward the café counter to ask for napkins, needing something to do, something to ground her hands.
“Napkins, si vou plè,” she told the barista gently.
But her ears kept swiveling.
Searching.
Tracking.
There it was again. That stare.
That burning awareness.
A predator’s focus.
Her body went taut, tail lifting in warning, every muscle bracing for a voice, a command, a threat...
She turned.
And saw him.
Right there.
Only a table away.
He looked like trouble carved into the shape of a man; long fingers, too-long limbs, static dancing faint beneath his skin. She swallowed, allowing a polite smile to ease onto her lips.
What else could she do?
She decided to speak first before he could.
“Bonjou,” she said warmly. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Somethin’ I can help you with, young man? You lookin’ kinda lost.”
He froze in that strange way unnatural things do.
Like she’d thrown cold water on a live wire.
His response was… not impressive.
“What?”
She bit back a laugh, covering her mouth delicately to save him embarrassment.
Bless his heart — big and terrifying as he looked, he acted like someone who wasn’t used to bein’ spoken to kindly.
She offered her hand.
“Here. Let’s start proper.”
He hesitated, gathering himself like a machine rebooting, then dipped down and kissed the back of her hand.
A practiced, charming gesture, but the way he lingered?
That wasn’t practiced.
His claws were cold.
Her skin was warm.
And something in his touch buzzed through her like static.
Her heart stuttered.
He straightened, voice smooth as oiled velvet.
“Sorry about that,” he purred. “I was simply captivated by such a beautiful creature. I swear I’ve seen you before. Mind giving me a name to that pretty face?”
Heat bloomed across her cheeks.
A compliment like that delivered in a voice like that?
Even a sensible woman could feel a bit undone.
She waved the flattery off, though her smile betrayed her.
“I doubt you’ve seen li’l ol’ me anywhere. But no harm in exchangin’ names if you give me yours.”
He lit up like she’d fed him a feast.
“Oh, you haven’t heard of me? Hard to believe. I’m Vox; overlord of television and all things media. Anyone with a TV knows who Vox is~”
Her smile softened.
Poor thing, he really believed everyone lived in his world.
“Well… I don’t actually have one of those pic-televisions,” she said sheepishly. “Too far out to catch the signal, they tell me. I get my news from papers and the radio. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, my mama said.”
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Adelia and Alastor meet for the first time in nearly a century without recognizing the blood-deep bond between them. Death has reshaped them both into creatures so altered that neither could imagine the truth standing before them. Their brief encounter is quiet but unnervingly heavy; a passing exchange that leaves Adelia rattled and Alastor uncharacteristically silent, as though some old, long-buried instinct flinched awake inside them. They part ways, but something invisible tethers itself between them, thrumming faintly in the air.
For Alastor, that tether grows taut. The more he tries to dismiss the memory of the strange doe woman, the sharper her presence becomes in his mind. Her voice, her scent, the subtle way she moved; it all begins to haunt him like a forgotten melody demanding resolution. His composure frays. His smile strains. He falls into sudden, long silences mid-broadcast, his attention slipping elsewhere. Other demons notice the shift and whisper about how the Radio Demon seems unsettled, almost glitching, as though some part of him is being eaten alive from within.
Adelia fares no better. Though she doesn’t understand why, her days begin to blur. She moves through her routines in an almost dissociative haze, hands working while her mind drifts. She finds herself forgetting conversations halfway through, losing track of time, or standing motionless in her small home with no memory of how long she’s been there. Worst of all, she keeps wandering back toward Pentagram City; sometimes on purpose, sometimes without realizing her feet have carried her there. Something in that place calls her back, sinking its hooks deeper each time.
As the pull intensifies, both of them grow more lost in each other’s absence. Adelia fights a constant sense of déjà vu and dread, while Alastor’s fixation curdles into obsession. He scours alleys, listens for her voice in static, follows phantom trails through the city she drifts back to. His temperament worsens, and even he can feel his control slipping. Eventually, desperation gnaws at him so fiercely that he contemplates seeking help from demons he would never stoop to acknowledge. Pride battles panic; but the need to find her again is beginning to eclipse everything else.
---
The deeper one wandered into Pentagram City, the more the air tasted like rust and regret. Adelia kept her shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, each step echoing too loudly on the cracked pavement. She didn’t belong here; that much was obvious in her soft gait, her quiet eyes, the way her presence dimmed the violent neon around her instead of reflecting it.
She should’ve turned back an hour ago.
But the apothecaries near the outskirts had closed early, and the good herbs only grew in the shadowed underbelly of the city; tucked between broken alleyways and half-collapsed shops that whispered as she passed.
She told herself she wasn’t afraid.
She’d lived worse.
She’d seen worse.
Even so… something prickled at the back of her neck.
A hunter’s gaze.
She stepped into a narrow market lane, dim lamps flickering above her head. A vendor’s cart rattled with jars of dried plants, powders, and charms that had no business being sold in public. She reached toward a jar of wolfsbane...
A shadow fell over her hand.
Long fingers, thin and elegant, hovered inches from her own.
Adelia stiffened.
She lifted her head, expecting some desperate sinner or petty thug.
Instead, she found him.
Tall.
Impossibly tall.
Dressed like a bygone century with a smile stretched too wide across his face.
Eyes gleaming like polished blood under moonlight.
The air around him distorted, faint radio-static weaving through the silence like something alive.
Alastor didn’t speak.
He just watched her… watched in a way that felt wrong, like he wasn’t seeing her body; but looking through it, past it, into something deeper.
“Pardon the interruption,” he finally purred, voice warm and hollow all at once. “I didn’t expect to find anyone else seeking such… specialized materials at this hour.”
His tone lilted with old New Orleans cadence and something darker beneath it, something coiled and eager. Adelia’s breath hitched, her instincts screaming prey even as she forced that polite smile to continue.
“I know what I’m lookin’ for,” she murmured.
Her voice trembled only slightly.
“Just need a little for remedies back home.”
“Remedies,” he repeated; savoring the word.
As though testing how it tasted in his mouth.
His smile sharpened.
“Most who pass through these parts seek quite the opposite.”
Her fingertips grazed the jar again, but his hand moved subtly — not touching her, but crowding her space, making her feel small, cornered, inspected.
A cold ripple ran up her spine.
Something in him recognized something in her.
Not clearly.
Not consciously.
But enough to make the air twist.
He leaned in just a fraction, his shadow swallowing hers.
“My dear, creatures like you don’t wander here without reason.”
His voice dipped low; velvet over a blade.
“And I find myself… terribly curious.”
Adelia’s pulse pounded so loud it felt like it shook her bones. She stepped back, forcing her breath steady. Her tail flicked, betraying her nerves.
“Just tryin’ to get what I need and go home,” she said gently, though her eyes never left his. “Nothin’ more.”
He tilted his head, grin carved a little deeper.
“But I wonder,” he murmured, “if the city will let you leave without offering a little… conversation.”
A chill hung heavy between them; something ancient stirring beneath his skin, something primal quaking beneath hers. Neither recognized the other, not truly, but some buried instinct on both sides twisted in uneasy harmony.
Finally, he stepped aside, but only just.
His presence clung to her like fog.
“Do take care, ma chère,” he said softly. “There are far more dangerous things than wolfsbane lurking in these streets.”
Her blood ran cold.
She didn’t turn her back on him until she absolutely had to.
And long after she left the alley, she could still feel his smile pressed between her shoulder blades; as though he’d left part of himself watching.
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