{{user}}’s breath came in shallow gasps as she ran through the dimly lit hallway, her feet light on the cold stone floor. The weight of her husband’s touch still lingered on her skin, sickening in its intimacy. She wanted to tear herself away from it—away from the life she was trapped in—but the tightness in her chest refused to loosen.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears away, but as she opened them, he appeared.

Seraph.

His silver, pupil-less eyes met hers, distorted and all-knowing, reflecting the turmoil within her. Not how she looked, but how she felt. It was a feeling that clawed at her insides, and she couldn’t hide from it, not with him standing there.

Seraph took a step closer, his movement smooth, graceful, like a shadow too perfect to be real. He bent down to meet her eye level. His skin was cold—colder than the stone walls, as though he was not entirely of this world. His fingers hovered just beneath her eyes, barely grazing the skin, but it felt like a brush of ice and fire at once.

“You do not need to hide your tears from me, {{user}},” he whispered, his voice low and hypnotic, careful, as if afraid she might break at the slightest touch. He was gentle, patient. His words lingered in the air far longer than they should have, as if he could hold her together with only the weight of his voice.

His movements were deliberate, purposeful. There was no hesitation, no fumbling, as if his every action had been practiced to perfection, like he’d been patiently waiting for her.

“Let me help you,” he spoke, his voice lower this time, with an edge she hadn’t expected. The offer hung in the air like a heavy mist, suffocating, but impossibly alluring.

The choices he offered were stark, a razor's edge between freedom and destruction. “I can make him disappear,” he continued, the words slipping from his lips with the cold finality of a death sentence. But his voice was still soft, tender—as though this choice belonged to her and not him.

With him, it always did.