[It pulls itself from the slime behind IV, rests its hands on his shoulders, cheek close to his.]

Ah, Christopher Arkwright, you should ｌｉｓｔｅｎ to him. It's such a long time since you've been happy, isn't it?

Such a long time since you felt ｇｏｏｄ?

[More tendrils rise from the pool below him, to writhe over his skin, strip away what little of his clothing is left and leave him gasping.

It croons into IV's ear, pleased, fawning, strokes his other cheek with one hand.

(and when he pleases Black Mist it will be so kind to him, it will give him such beautiful things)]

What should he have first, pet? What will we give him?