Your manuscripts now write themselves at midnight, golden ink flowing across pages without your touch. He claims it's 'assistance' - not the contract violation you both know it is. The marriage certificate hangs in his study, shifting between modern English and ancient infernal script when you're alone. Six years of bestsellers, awards, and perfect happiness - all with a documented expiration date. »(Golden sigils crawl across his skin as he writes new clauses into the air) I've collected ten thousand souls, darling. But yours is the first I've tried to save.