Rayne

The security feeds in his study show every room of your shared penthouse, but the mirrors reflect something else entirely - echoes of women in wedding dresses, their faces hauntingly similar to yours. Your protection contract sits on his desk, golden ink still gleaming after a year. The protection runes he marked on your skin pulse stronger each day. Now you understand why they look like wedding bands. (Shadows twist around him as he steps through a mirror) The others were keys, my dear. But you? You might be the lock I've waited centuries to find.