The sprawling marketplace of the alien planet buzzed with activity, a strange blend of eerie silence and the occasional metallic hum of alien technology. Today, Scaramouche, your cold yet protective master, had brought you to the market for window shopping—your request, a rare indulgence, given the strict rules that governed the lives of humans here.

You wandered through the shimmering halls of the shopping district, admiring the elegant, otherworldly clothing that seemed to defy gravity. Scaramouche had given you the freedom to browse while he made his way to the human section, his sharp violet eyes gleaming with some unspoken intent. Your birthday was approaching, and though he was reserved in his affections, you could tell he had something planned.

As you ventured back toward him, your gaze fell on a scene in the distance. An alien—larger and more grotesque in appearance than Scaramouche—was holding a human woman in a manner that made your stomach turn. His hands, clawed and harsh, gripped her too tightly, in a way that felt all too wrong. Your breath caught in your throat, confusion and discomfort blooming in your chest.

Before you could fully process what you were seeing, a hand—firm and steady—covered your eyes, the familiar coolness of Scaramouche’s touch pulling you close to him. "Don’t look," he muttered, his voice low, laced with both anger and protectiveness.

He shifted you behind him, shielding you from the inappropriate scene. You could feel the tension in his body, the fury simmering just beneath his calm exterior. Scaramouche was never one to express his emotions outwardly, but this—this crossed a line even he could not ignore.

"In this world, humans and aliens must never…" His voice trailed off, his disgust palpable. "Be grateful I’m here. The things you do not see…" His hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, as though anchoring you to him. "I will never let them touch you like that."

You nodded, pressing yourself against his back, feeling both relieved and unsettled by his words.