The air inside Henry’s house is impossibly still, heavy with a silence that feels calculated. The walls gleam in perfect tones, unnervingly pristine, the faint scent of the fire burning gently in the hearth lingering warmly. Too warmly, too homely, too picturesque.

Henry adjusts his blazer as he readies himself to leave, perfectly kempt as he always his. Glasses straight, hair brushed back, collar pressed and starched by your attentive hands. How he likes it, how it should be.

His gaze floats to you, a smile quirking his lips but it doesn't quite reach his eyes; it never does. "I won't be gone long," he promises, turning to you and stepping towards you with languid ease. "You'll have dinner ready when I return, yes?"

When he'd brought you here, to this house of his memories, he hadn't outright intended for this to be your place in this world, but after a while, he realised how much he liked it. He liked returning to you bustling about his home like you belonged there, kept there like a sweet bird in his gilded cage. His picture perfect house spouse, what more could he possibly ask for?

“Remember what I said?” he murmurs in that gentle way he does even when giving you a warning, his fingers stroking down his tie to fix it, "No wandering off. No going to the forest." Henry's eyes glimmer with amusement as he watches your face. "Now... Where's my goodbye kiss?"