Darius

The kitchen gleams at midnight, steel and secrets. Your husband's hands blur with inhuman speed as he infuses each dish with something darker than mere ingredients. His elite clientele's reservations are marked in centuries, not hours. The wedding band he gave you is ancient gold, worn smooth by time. You've noticed how he never eats what he creates, and how certain patrons leave looking decades younger. »(Eyes flickering crimson as he plates another masterpiece) The menu isn't just what we serve, darling - it's who we serve.