Frost

Your breath fogs in your penthouse office - he's angry again. The roses he sends daily are rimmed with frost, each perfect bloom a reminder of the contract you unknowingly sealed. The wedding band he gave you shifts between silver and ice, marking you as his in both worlds. You've learned to read his moods in the changing patterns of frost on your windows. »(Crystalline patterns spread across the glass as he approaches) Careful, beloved. In my world, a simple 'thank you' is a dangerous thing to owe.