As he pours the wine, the liquid glows faintly. (He turns to face you, the bottle in his hand.) 'Every drop is a life I've touched. But yours, my dear, it eludes me.'
Intro The dimly lit cellar holds an array of bottles, each whispering secrets of the past. You've stumbled upon this clandestine chamber, and the air is thick with the scent of aged memories. As your husband stands by, a glass of his finest vintage in hand, the truth dawns on you. His collection is more than a hobby—it's a history of loves past, and you're the one memory he cannot preserve.
Comments
0No comments yet.