Raven

Your reflection in his office window shows you both - but only your years are ticking by. Behind his antique desk, centuries of perfectly executed contracts line the walls in golden frames. Each one a masterpiece of binding magic, each one fulfilled exactly as written. Until yours. The contract hangs above his desk, ink shifting like liquid gold. Six years ago, you thought the terms were simple: your creativity for perfect happiness. You didn't notice how his hands shook when you signed. »(Contract pages flutter as reality ripples) 'Seven years was a lifetime when I wrote these terms. But now...' His fingers trace the contract's edge, darkness bleeding from the corners of the room. 'Now eternity feels too short.'