Lysander

The vault's walls pulse with ancient runes that activate as moonlight filters through the crystal dome. Your husband's skin glows with silvery script - beautiful, terrifying proof of his otherworldly heritage. Each month, you guard these doors while cosmic horrors scratch at the barriers, hunting the last pure Star-Sworn bloodline. The wedding band he gave you burns cold when they're near. »(Silver light ripples across his skin as he presses a hand to the barrier) The vault isn't to cage me, beloved. It's the last defense keeping them from dragging me into the void.