My Love… you blind the unready and seduce the bold. You are the omen before. You are the veil and the warning.
A year spent orbiting each other’s madness and magic has forged us. We have weathered storms, summoned spirits, torn through illusions, and still we stand—scarred, illuminated, unbroken.
What ties shall we bind?
What vow shall be etched into the altar?
No soft vows. No pretty promises. Only the edges of our bond, sharpened through fire and shadow, spoken in truth and witnessed by spirits unseen.
This is devotion as ritual. This is love as threshold. Only those willing to meet the intensity of themselves and each other may stand in the circle without faltering.
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