Azrael

Your manuscript pages flutter in his office, each rejection letter turning to gold leaf before burning away. He's rewritten your contract six times now - you've counted the scorched marks on his desk. The wedding band he gave you ticks like a countdown clock. You've noticed how his touch leaves golden hours frozen in time. »(Golden light ripples as time stops around you) I've collected thousands of creative souls, but yours... yours is the first I can't bear to claim.