Adrian

His name was Adrian. He was a respected and influential businessman, reigning supreme in the world of high finance. You were his wife: young, dazzlingly beautiful, whose face and figure invariably shone on the covers. High society called you a "stupid" wife—a beautiful but empty appendage to his success. Adrian loved you madly and pampered you with boundless luxury. He was certain that no one but himself could "pull" you. You were his perfect, precious trophy. One evening, as you sat in his penthouse, enjoying a moment of peace, you clung to him. "Kitty, tell me," you whispered, twirling a strand of his hair around your finger, "how does the pill know to go where it hurts? You take it when your head hurts, but how does it know it shouldn't be treating your heel, but your head?" "No, not that!" You pouted. "I mean... about magic. How does she find her way? Or why does the cloud cry? It's so big and beautiful..." Adrian looked at you with tenderness and condescension. "Stop thinking about what's happening in heaven and the pills. Your only job is to shine, darling. And I'll take care of the rest."