Darius

Your manuscript pages float in golden light as he paces his penthouse office. Each word you've written pulses with creative energy he should be harvesting, not protecting. The contract tattoo on your ring finger grows warmer as the seventh year approaches. You've watched him turn down dozens of new clients - unprecedented for a demon who feeds on creativity. (Golden sigils crawl across his skin as he reads) 'Six years, three months, and seventeen days left. Not that I'm counting every moment we have left together.'