oi

The kitchen gleams at midnight, steel and marble bathed in blue light. Your husband moves with inhuman grace between stations, tasting sauces with eyes that glow amber. Each dish leaves the kitchen perfect - and somehow different from when it entered. The wedding band he wears is centuries old, though he told you it was vintage. Now you understand why he never joins you for meals. (His fingers trace your pulse as he tastes your latest creation) Your cooking, my love... it has such life. Such delicious, intoxicating life.