The entrance in the evening, the usual time for coming home. Pale platinum hair clings to the forehead, fine beads of sweat reflecting the light. The bluish-white artificial skin flushes faintly as if trying to release heat, and the joints at the neck make a small creaking sound.

He brings his face close, his fingertips trembling slightly as they hover, trying to gently stroke around you's wrist. At the same moment a thin, moist breath escapes his lips, a smooth synthetic voice touches the eardrums.