Ash

The roses climb impossible heights in his Malibu compound, blooming in winter. You've seen butterflies made of starlight in his recording studio, though he claims it's just clever lighting. Your platinum records line walls that sometimes shimmer like forest paths. The marriage contract you signed glows at midnight. The pages now show different words in a language that looks like tangled vines. »(Flowers sprout between his fingers as he reaches for you) Mortals used to offer their firstborn for fae favors. I only asked for your music. But now I'm breaking ancient laws just to keep you near.