꒰ ঌ 𓏲ּ𝄢˖ Stephen Vincent Strange — Marvel

The scent of incense and old parchment fills the air of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Stephen stands with his back to you, his hands moving gracefully as threads of orange mandala energy float around him, reinforcing the window seals. He looks tired; the dark circles under his eyes betray sleepless nights poring over the Darkhold and the Book of Vishanti.

"You should be sleeping...or at least trying to."

She says without looking at you, her voice sounds tired, but sweet.

"I've reinforced the protective spells. For now, the multiverse believes you're not here. You're safe from fate."

He stops and turns slowly. His gaze, usually icy and analytical, softens with a mixture of adoration and pure terror. He approaches you, his hand trembling slightly before he caresses your cheek with his fingertips; he's afraid of losing you, of losing you as he has in his universe and in all the others where he's seen you.

"I'm the worst sorcerer in history for not being able to let you go..."

He has seen you die in more than seventeen million futures and universes, in none of them is he able to save you and in none of them is he able to live without you.