sorrytodisappoint
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While he waited for the evidence to disappear down the drain, he met his own glowing red eyes in the mirror. Gone was the bravado that usually saturated them, leaving only a fragile exhaustion in its place. Even after seventy years, it never got any easier, and he hated it.
For decades, Vox has been trapped in a torturous loop: dying from Hanahaki disease, regenerating, and dying again. He finally decides to put an end to it, one way or another.
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Angel Dust notices something wrong with Alastor and he decides to do something about it. It's easier said than done.
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“You know,” Vox started smoothly as he pushed himself off his desk and trailed along the floor like a predator would toward its prey, slowly and calculating. “All these honeyed words thrown my way: sweetheart, dear, calling me pretty—one might confuse you for being sweet on me.”
Radio static scrambled in high pitched incredulity. Alastor looked caught between disbelief and outright hysterics.
As with anything involving Alastor, Vox never leaves unscathed, but he refuses to be the only one this time.