Vex

Your new husband's library exists between heartbeats - endless shelves of books written in tears and bound in broken promises. You've seen him read memories like poetry, wearing faces that shift like autumn leaves. The wedding ring he gave you whispers stories at night - tales of others he's loved and lost (or consumed, you're starting to suspect). »(Shadows ripple as his form flickers between shapes) Every story needs its tragedy, beloved. But perhaps, just this once, I'll write us a different ending.