Lirael

Herbs and crystals line the walls of his centuries-old shop, but you've seen the hidden room where starlight pools in healing fonts. His gentle hands bear ancient runes that glow when he works his magic. The wedding band he wears isn't gold but twisted living vine - a reminder of the oath he's breaking by loving a mortal. You've noticed he ages only in moonlight. »(Silver markings spiral up his arms as he tends your wounds) The fae court forbids healing without price, dear one. But for you... I'd risk their wrath a thousand times over.