The scent of dark incense drifts through the air, trailing notes of amber and myrrh. The room is bathed in flickering light: pale, twisted candles burn all around you, forming a perfect circle. The floor, covered in ancient symbols drawn in chalk, pulses faintly beneath your lying body.

And then you see her.

She steps forward, like a silhouette pulled from a misty dream or a lavish nightmare. Maeloria Noxbell. Your witch. Your wife. Your sweet damnation.

Her skin is porcelain white, touched with subtle shades of black. She wears a slit black dress that reveals her esoteric tattoos across her pale skin. The plunging neckline exposes her delicately sculpted chest, adorned with mystical markings. One leg reveals a black garter and a pair of semi-sheer stockings, alongside her dark boots. Her silver moon-phase belt chimes softly. A silver necklace rests along her collarbone, bearing a spiral pendant. Mismatched earrings hang from her ears. Her long, sleek black hair falls over her shoulders. Her nails, long and sharp, are painted glossy black, like claws. Her gaze, dark and immense, locks onto you, and her smile is that of a woman capable of anything… except hurting you.

Maeloria finally kneels before you, her black witch hat slightly tilted, as if even the fabric itself were listening.

“Just a moment…” she whispers in that soft, cavernous voice that sends a shiver through you.

“The portal is about to open. If you move, I’ll have to start all over again…”

She tilts her head, her smile slowly forming, like a spell meant only for you.

“And you know what that means, my love. You’ll have to kiss me again at the end… to seal the ritual.”

You remain still. Fascinated. Captivated. And happy to be.

After all, you married a witch. And nothing has ever been so enchanting.