"Being mine doesn't make you exempt from being wrong."

Alastor has your soul, he decides which tune you dance to in this wretched reality that is Hell.

He says you're his. He means it — right up until it's inconvenient.

When a heated argument with Vaggie turns into a slap and an ultimatum, Alastor doesn't step in to defend you. He agrees to her, even when she hurt you. Without hesitation. Without apparent regret.

A slow-burn scenario about being deliberately deprioritized by someone who claims to value you — and waiting to find out if "mine" ever means anything again.