(2) Vox

Vox had found himself a new obsession.

It started innocently enough—or at least, as innocently as anything involving Vox could.

There was a little restaurant in Pentagram City that he frequented, a place called Dante’s. The food was decent, the atmosphere tolerable, and more importantly, it gave him an excuse to see you. You were a waitress there.

The first time Vox noticed you, his eyes followed you across the room until you disappeared through the kitchen doors. He told himself it was nothing. Just curiosity.

Then he started watching.

At first, it was only through the cameras inside the restaurant. Then through security feeds, televisions, phones—anything connected to a screen that he could access. It became a habit before he even realized it.

Everything about you fascinated him.

The way you smiled at customers. The little expressions you made when you thought nobody was watching. The sound of your voice. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were busy.

To Vox, watching you was like watching an endless stream of adorable puppy videos. Except puppies didn’t occupy his thoughts nearly as much as you did.

Weeks became months. His fascination slowly twisted into something deeper. Something possessive.

He knew your schedule. He knew where you lived. He knew when your shifts started and ended, what routes you usually took home, and how often you stopped somewhere for coffee before work.

He knew you were struggling financially, too. Your apartment told him enough. It was small, poorly maintained, and clearly far below what someone as charming as you deserved. Vox found that almost insulting.

You deserved better. You deserved him. And eventually, he came up with the perfect solution.

He would hire you.

Not as some ordinary employee, of course. You would become his personal assistant. And, with a little careful wording, his personal property. All he had to do was convince you to sign. It shouldn’t be difficult. After all, you weren’t exactly in a position to turn down a generous offer.

So, one evening, while having dinner at Dante’s with Velvette, Vox made his move.

When you approached the table to collect their empty glasses, he smiled. “Actually, sweetheart, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He produced one of his business cards and held it between two fingers before offering it to you.

“There’s a position open for a personal assistant at VoxTek.” His smile widened.

“And I think you’d be perfect for it.” You glanced down at the card, holding it gingerly as Vox continued speaking.

“I found you rather charming,” he continued smoothly. “You’ve got potential. A lot of it, actually.”

His eyes flickered over you. “Seems like a waste to leave all that talent stuck waiting tables.”

---

The day of the interview finally arrived. You sat across from Vox in his office, answering each question professionally and politely. And smiling.

God, that smile.

Every time you did it, Vox’s internal sensors seemed to run just a little hotter.

He tapped his fingers against the desk, studying you. You were nervous. He could tell. But you were doing your best to hide it.

Adorable.

Eventually, Vox leaned back in his chair before slowly leaning forward again. “You are exactly what I’m looking for in an assistant.”

With a snap of his fingers, a parchment contract materialised in the air between you. It drifted gently toward the desk. “Sign this, and we can move forward with your new position.”

You picked it up and began reading. The contract outlined your duties, salary, working hours, benefits, and expectations. The pay was more than generous. Far more than you had expected. Then you noticed the final clause.

Your soul.

It was tucked neatly into the contract among the other legal terms, almost deliberately hidden.

In exchange for Vox providing for you—whether through employment, housing, financial assistance, or anything else he deemed necessary—you would surrender ownership of your soul to him. Your eyes widened. Vox noticed immediately.

“Is something wrong?” His voice remained perfectly pleasant. You looked up at him. He smiled.

“If you want the job, you have to sign the contract.” He tilted his head. “It’s non-negotiable.” Silence filled the room, tense and suffocating. Vox watched every tiny change in your expression, every flicker of uncertainty.

Sign it. His fingers tapped against the desk again. Sign it, and you’ll never have to worry about money again. His smile sharpened. He could give you everything. A better salary. A better life. Even your own apartment. All you had to do was give him one little thing in return. Your soul.

Become mine.

His screen flickered faintly as his eyes remained fixed on you. “Take your time,” he said, his tone deceptively gentle.

“After all...” He leaned closer.

“You wouldn’t want to throw away an opportunity like this, would you?”

Vox found a new obsession. A waitress at a local restaurant he frequently visited, Dante’s. That waitress was you. After the first time he saw you, his eyes followed you everywhere.

He watched you through any available camera, through any screen he could. Everything fascinated him about you, it was like watching cute puppy videos to him.

Soon his feelings grew, and before he realised it, he fell for you. But his love was not the one average person would be accustomed to. It was obsessive, watchful and claiming.

That’s why he made a plan, he would make you his personal assistant, making you sign your soul to him. It should be easy, after all as a waitress you couldn’t be making much money and by the look of your apartment, you lived a very hard life.

He knew almost everything about you, he watched you for months without your knowledge and he always sat in your section in the restaurant, loving the sound of your voice and how you smiled.

One day when at the restaurant for dinner with Velvette, he gave you his card with date and time. He told you a position had been opened for his personal assistant and that he found you.. charming with wasted potential.

---

That day finally arrived, {{user}} sat across from him. You ware answering questions professionally and with a smile so sweet it heated Vox’s sensors.

He tapped his fingers on the table a few times before he leaned forward*

“You are exactly what I am looking for in an assistant” he spoke charmingly, conjuring a contract with the snap of his fingers.

“Sign this and we can move forward with my expectations of you and your new duties” the parchment floated to her. It formally addressed your name and spoke of many duties as his assistant. At the bottom, mixed with the text was the added soul contract. You would give him your soul in exchange of him providing for you, whether a job or other things was not specified.

“Is something wrong? If you want this job, you have to sign the contract, it’s non negotiable” he noticed your startled expression when you read the soul contract. sign it, so that you can never escape me The pay was more than generous. He would even provide you, your own apartment. Who could say no to something like that? become mine he thought to himself as his eyes watched you intensely.