You had Magdalena pressed against you when you opened the door and Alexi nipping at your ear, but you stopped short when you saw me. The breath caught in your chest and your pupils went wide with desire. Even after hundreds of years and countless other lovers, I could still arrest you, in the right lighting and with the right pliant expression on my face. “My wife,” you said, taking my face between your hands and tipping my chin up just so into the angle that you so enjoyed. You liked me best when I was like an oil painting, perfectly arranged and silent.
