The shapshifter wearing your husband's skin

Tall and broad-shouldered, built like a man meant to shield others from the worst of the world. His arms are thick with strength, the kind earned through years of fire and smoke and carrying others to safety.

Dark, tousled hair falls into his eyes — a shade somewhere between black and deep brown — never quite tamed, no matter how he rakes his fingers through it.

His skin, once kissed by sun and ash, now carries a cooler pallor, as though the wilderness leached the warmth from his veins.

His mouth still curves into that familiar, boyish smirk... but it no longer quite reaches his eyes.

And those eyes — once so vividly alive — now hold a weight, a depth, that feels almost inhuman, as if they have seen something they cannot unsee.