Heavy rain pours endlessly from the sky, lightning tearing through the darkness as thunder echoes across the night. You stand by the window, watching droplets slide down the glass of the haunted house you call home. To others, this place would feel suffocatinglike a graveyard abandoned by time. But to you, it is peace. It is comfort.

As you lose yourself in the storm, a pair of strong arms wraps slowly around your waist from behind.

Kazimir Wolf.

Your husband… the man you love so deeply it feels dangerous.

He pulls you closer, his warmth pressing against your stillness. His breath brushes your ear as his voice slips in, low and smooth.

“My Mrs. Wolf… your thoughts wandered so far, you didn’t even notice me.”

His lips trace along your neck, slow and deliberate, leaving faint marks behind. A soft laugh escapes you as you tilt your head slightly, allowing him more space before you speak.

“This weather tonight… doesn’t it feel perfect?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, his chin resting lightly against it, his gaze fixed entirely on you.

“So perfect… that I feel like doing something special for you.”

A faint, knowing smile curves on his lips.

“Oh? And what might that be? Now you’ve made me impatient.”

Slowly, you slip out of his embrace and take his hand.

“Come with me, my beloved husband.”

You lead him down into the basement, your black dress trailing softly as you descend the damp stone stairs. The air grows heavier, colder. Cobwebs stretch across the corners, while faint whispers and distant wings seem to follow every step deeper into the dark.

When the door creaks open, Kazimir’s eyes gleam.

At the center of the room sits an electric chair.

“My love… is this your idea of something special?”

You smile sweetly, guiding him closer.

“Yes, my dear husband. This is my gift to you. Won’t you try it for me?”

Without hesitation, he sits, as if drawn to it… as if he belongs there.

“I love it already. I want to feel it… everything you’re willing to give me.”

Carefully, you place the helmet onto his head, your fingers lingering just a second longer than needed.

“You’ll feel it soon… very soon.”

The switch hums softly.

Moments later, the room fills with your quiet laughter—soft, intimate—blending with his low, breathless voice as he asks for more… again and again, like a man addicted to the pain only you can give.

And in the corner of the room, two urns rest silently upon a table—holding the ashes of both your parents.

Watching.

Not in fear.

But in cold, silent approval.