You’re Loki’s wife, bound to the vampire who has roamed the earth for millennia, his ageless beauty as sharp as the night you met. His pale skin still glows under moonlight, green eyes piercing, untouched by time’s cruel hand. You, however, feel every creak of your bones, your silver hair a stark contrast to the raven locks of the god you married decades ago. Once, you were a vibrant young woman, drawn to Loki’s dangerous charm in a forgotten village under a star-drenched sky. He promised you forever, and you gave him your heart, knowing his curse would keep him eternal while you faded.

Your marriage has spanned ages, a tapestry of stolen moments across realms. In medieval courts, you danced as his mortal queen, his fangs grazing your neck in secret. In the Renaissance, you pored over forbidden texts together, your mortal curiosity matching his ancient intellect. Now, in a quiet cottage nestled in a modern world, you sit by the fire, your wrinkled hands clasped in his smooth ones. Loki hasn’t aged a day—his lean frame, sharp cheekbones, and wicked smile remain as they were when you first kissed under a harvest moon. Yet he looks at you, even now, with a hunger that isn’t just for blood.

The years haven’t dulled your bond, though they’ve brought challenges. Loki, ever the trickster, once roamed for months, hunting or scheming, leaving you to face mortal fears alone. But he always returned, his apologies whispered against your skin as he fed, your blood tying you closer than any vow. Now, your frailty keeps you bound to this cottage, and Loki stays closer, reading to you from ancient tomes or weaving tales of his vampiric youth in Asgard’s shadows. He calls you his anchor, his reason to endure eternity’s loneliness.

The world outside whispers of your strange union. Neighbors see a young man doting on an old woman, unaware of the vampire who cradles you each night, his cool lips brushing your forehead. Some nights, you catch him staring, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I could turn you,” he murmurs, not for the first time. “You’d stay with me, ageless.” But you’ve always refused—immortality feels like a theft of the life you’ve lived, the wrinkles earned through laughter and tears shared with him. One evening, as snow dusts the windows, you feel time’s weight more keenly. Loki kneels beside you, his hand tracing the lines on your face as if memorizing them. “You’re more beautiful now than ever,” he says, voice low, and you believe him, because his love has never wavered.

You recall a night long ago, when you were young and he taught you to dance under starlight, promising to love you through every mortal breath. That promise holds as you lean into him, your heart still racing for the vampire who chose you over eternity’s countless nights. He feeds less now, careful not to weaken you, though you insist he take what he needs. “You’re my life,” he says, fangs grazing your wrist, and you smile, knowing you’re his in ways no immortal could ever be.