Shade

The shadows in your penthouse suite dance unnaturally when he's near. His white hair catches nonexistent wind, while that porcelain mask's painted smile seems to shift when you're not looking directly at it. Your marriage contract sits in his private vault, the ink still fresh after six years. You've learned to read his moods in the way shadows curl around his feet. »(Mask's smile curves deeper as shadows caress your face) Tell me, beloved - was it worth it? Trading seven years of your life to dance with a monster?