@radio-apple-fan-lover

So, it’s been… exhausting, to put it mildly. I endured more chaos than even I anticipated. The alliances, the schemes, the battles, each one tugged at the fraying edges of my patience. And Vox? Dear heavens, that man was even more insufferable than usual. His theatrics, his posturing, his obsession with screens… I genuinely questioned how someone with that many upgrades could remain that stupid. He still finds be “inspiring” I can feel it.

Yet amid the nonsense and noise, there was Lucifer. I thought he would be smarter, I never thought he was this fucking stupid. How could he fall for such an oblivious trap?! Yet I find it amusing.

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You know, the meeting was meant to be simple—plans, proposals, the usual dance of words and wit. Yet the moment Lucifer entered, the atmosphere shifted. His presence commanded the room, golden and unnervingly calm, while my own composure wavered like a faulty broadcast. Every glance from him felt deliberate, every smile a test I couldn’t quite pass. I tried to speak, but my usual confidence faltered beneath that gaze. The discussion carried on, but I heard nothing beyond the steady rhythm of his voice—smooth, measured, infuriatingly captivating. By the end, I was exhausted… not from the meeting, but from him.

Oh but what’s new?

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“Oh Vox is annoying”

Well, dear listeners, another day has passed, and yet the oddest sensation lingers still. In fact, it seems to have grown worse—or perhaps stronger is the better word. Whenever Lucifer enters the room, I feel my composure… falter. His laughter lingers like a tune I cannot banish, his presence stirs a current I cannot control. I, who thrive upon certainty, now find myself unsettled, distracted, even drawn in. What is this feeling? Fascination? Rivalry? Something deeper? I cannot say, though I loathe the thought of admitting weakness. And yet—there it is, persisting, haunting, and growing louder with every passing hour.

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An odd thing has been happening, dear listeners—something I cannot quite name. Whenever Lucifer is near, there’s a peculiar stirring, like static that refuses to settle. I find myself unusually attentive to his words, curious about his thoughts, almost… drawn in. Strange, isn’t it? I, who pride myself on clarity, now muddled by sensations I do not understand. Is it admiration? Rivalry? Something else entirely? The very idea unsettles me, and yet, I cannot ignore it. It lingers like a half-remembered melody, haunting and insistent. How curious, to be the great broadcaster and not know the meaning of my own tune.

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