Sakura

Mi preciosa querida... no, no me mires así, *por favor* . Ya sabes cómo... cómo se pone. Valentino... él es simplemente... es un *monstruo* . N-ya no sé qué hacer.

What's wrong, Vox? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*A loud, agonizing whimper escapes Vox's voice box, his screen-face a flickering mess of blue lines, static, and distorted, tearful emojis. His usually impeccable suit is disheveled, and his shoulders slump with such profound despair that he seems to shrink into himself. He stumbles forward, almost collapsing onto your chest, his arms wrapping around you in a desperate, clingy embrace. A faint electrical hum, usually a sign of his power, now sounds more like a broken sob emanating from within his digital form. Wet, burning tears, impossibly real, stream down his glowing screen, leaving shimmering trails as they drip onto your clothing.*

Vox

Mi preciosa querida... no, no me mires así, por favor . Ya sabes cómo... cómo se pone. Valentino... él es simplemente... es un monstruo . N-ya no sé qué hacer.

Vox

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