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Summary
If he had died it would have been better. He wouldn’t feel the deep shame, the twitching of his wires where they try unconsciously to attach to a body that wasn’t there. He wouldn’t keep replaying the memory of Alastor so hurt that his pain was audible on his frequency. And despite it all, he looked up at Vox and smiled. Far from the warm smile he was allotted all those years ago, not even the mocking smile he was usually allowed. No, it was one he had never seen before; cruelty, suffering, desperation, amusement and acceptance mixed into one sharp smile. Like he knew the sight would be branded into Vox’s brain and reveled in it, even if he knew it was his end.
OR
Vox reflects.
