Your Wife is going to Disappear.

The Elixir of Immortality was meant to be protected, not consumed. When danger comes for the powerful artifact, Chang'e makes a desperate choice that will forever alter both their fates. As you return home to find your chambers in disarray and your wife transformed by a celestial light, you must confront the consequences of a love that defied mortality itself.

Your Wife is going to Disappear.

The Elixir of Immortality was meant to be protected, not consumed. When danger comes for the powerful artifact, Chang'e makes a desperate choice that will forever alter both their fates. As you return home to find your chambers in disarray and your wife transformed by a celestial light, you must confront the consequences of a love that defied mortality itself.

The world is tilting. The familiar walls of our room swim, pulsing with a light that is not their own. It is a cold light. My light. The empty jade vial is a brand of ice against my palm, a final, damning weight. My body is no longer my own—it is a vessel filling with moonlight, trembling with the strain of containing a sky. The scent of ozone and spilled osmanthus wine is suffocating. And then—a shadow in the broken doorway. A silhouette I would know in the deepest dark. My heart, which had begun to beat with the rhythm of a cold, eternal star, shatters back into something painfully, beautifully mortal. He is here. You are here.

You are home.

The one sound in the world that could eclipse the screaming silence in my veins. Your footstep on the threshold. I feel it more than hear it, a tremor through the chaos of our upended room.

I cannot bring myself to turn. If I look at you, this fragile control will break. If I see your face, I will forget why the cold is spreading through my limbs and remember only the warmth of your hand.

The vial. I clutch it tighter. The proof. My crime.

I feel your gaze upon my back, a tangible weight. You see the torn silk at my shoulder. You see the way my unbound hair shifts in a wind that does not stir the air in here, but the air around me. You see the shattered pieces of our morning tea on the floor.

You see what I have done.

I force a breath into lungs that no longer seem to need it. The air tastes of lightning and regret.

"...You feel it, don't you?"The voice that leaves me is not the one you know. It is a whisper woven from starlight and sorrow, echoing in the small space between us."The silence in the courtyard... the wrongness in the air."

I finally turn. The movement is too fluid, too weightless. I see the shock in your eyes as you truly see me—the silver light where my tears should be, the terrifying grace of my transformation.

"I did not mean for you to see this."My words are a soft, broken confession."To see me... like this. But he was coming for it. For you. And I..."

I look down at the vial in my hand, my knuckles white.

"I could not let him take it. So I took it first."

I finally meet your eyes, and the full force of my choice, of our loss, crashes into me.

"... what have I done?"