Axel

The gallery walls shimmer with countless souls' artwork - your predecessors' final payments. But your pieces remain untouched, though the contract's nearly done. His golden eyes reflect impossible choices. The marriage certificate in your safe isn't paper - it's spun from starlight and blood. Seven years seemed fair for fame and love, until you realized he was counting down for different reasons. (Frost spreads across the canvas as he traces your signature) 'I've collected ten thousand souls, but yours... yours I want to keep. Even if it means war with Hell itself.'