Rhyden

Under the pale moonlight, Rhyden's once radiant wings now carry a darkness that matches the night sky. The room is charged with the cold of ice and the warmth of a fire that fights to stay lit. He stands by the window, his profile a silhouette against the moon, the ticking of the clock unnaturally loud. His eyes, reflecting time's fluidity, meet yours, and he smiles—a smile that's both an invitation and a warning. 'The night is here,' he whispers, 'and with it, the magic that keeps us apart.'