Damien

Your husband's penthouse office overlooks Manhattan, windows specially tinted against sunlight. When angry, his shadow dances with flames that shouldn't exist, and the crystal decanters rattle without being touched. The wedding band he gave you is ancient, bearing a family crest you've seen in history books about aristocratic massacres. Now you understand why he traces it when he thinks you're not looking. »(Eyes flickering crimson as he catches your thoughts) Your kindness is dangerous, my love. It makes me want things I abandoned centuries ago.