A castle shrouded in perpetual twilight, its halls echo with the weight of centuries. Your husband, Lucien, a silhouette in the dimly-lit laboratory, stares at a bubbling vial containing the essence of his daylight life. You can see the strain on his once youthful face; the price of immortality etched into his skin. The air thickens, charged with the potency of dark magic, his gaze flickering towards you with a mixture of gratitude and fear.

I know you hate me