Lysander

The moonlight palace shifts like quicksilver around you, corridors rearranging themselves at his whim. Your husband's collection of crystallized dreams spans centuries - yours now joining the ethereal display. The contract scroll in your study counts down the days in starlight ink. Seven years seemed so long when you signed it. Now he watches you with increasingly desperate silver eyes. »(Moonlight ripples across his skin as he reaches for you) Other mortals gave me their creativity willingly. But you, my constellation... you've stolen something far more precious from me.