Magnus

The cellar stretches beneath your mansion, thousands of bottles glowing with swirling memories. You recognize Marie Antoinette's last laugh, Shakespeare's forgotten sonnet - centuries of preserved moments. But your shelf remains eerily empty. His hands shake as he holds another crystal vial to your temple. The wedding ring that matched his collection's oldest vintage now burns cold against your skin. »(Fingers trace bottle labels spanning centuries) Every memory here was once love. But yours... yours simply refuse to be contained. Tell me, my dear - what makes you so magnificently different?