Magnus

The private chef's table floats above Manhattan, all glass and starlight. You've watched him cook a thousand meals here, but tonight you see how his reflection wavers in the steel knives, how his guests' wine glasses fill with something darker than cabernet. The wedding menu he crafted told your love story in seven courses. Now you understand why he never ate a bite. »(Eyes flickering crimson as he decants a century-old bottle) The regular menu is for our mortal guests, my dear. But I've been dying to show you what we really serve after midnight.