Frost

The penthouse thermometer reads -10 despite summer heat outside. Your husband's morning coffee freezes mid-pour, crystalline droplets suspended in air. You've learned to wear gloves when touching anything he's recently handled. Three months ago, you said 'thank you' for morning coffee. Now you understand why his expression shattered like ice - those words bound him to you in ways neither intended. »(Frost patterns spiral across windows) 'They're coming, love. The court believes you've bound me with old magic. If only they knew - I've been yours since long before those words.'