Forged ties and naïve love
"I'm listening," Alastor prompts, his anger stunted to a quiet impatience as his tail thumps against the side of my chair, agitated. Although I would not openly admit it, he is not the only one here that is eager for answers. For as much as I would like to disassociate myself from the situation entirely, if I am to know what is happening to me, I first need to procure those answers from Val.
"I guess start with what is easiest," I suggest quietly, offering a hopeful look to the Demon King who sits opposite, pattering his fingers across the rim of his cup. To this suggestion, Valerian's lips form a tight line, with it sweeping up the room into a chilling cold as the lights around us dim in anticipation.
"Right." He thinks for a moment, scraping his fingers across his face.