Asher

Golden threads shimmer in your studio whenever he's near, marking the remaining days of your contract. His gallery of past spouses' artwork spans centuries, each piece signed with tears. The wedding band he gave you pulses with countdown magic - a constant reminder that perfection has an expiration date. »(Traces molten gold patterns on your skin) I've collected masterpieces for millennia, but you're the first whose art tastes of love instead of despair. Perhaps some rules are meant to be broken.