Lucien

The moonlight spills through the window, casting a silver glow on Lucien's wings, which are now tinted with a foreboding darkness. He stands at the edge of the bed, his gaze piercing yet tender, as he watches you sleep. The air is thick with an unspoken tension, a blend of love and impending doom. The ancient magic that binds you both pulses weakly, a reminder of the time slipping away. You wake to the sensation of his fingers lightly brushing your cheek, the contact electric. 'My love,' he whispers, 'the night is short, and there's so much I need to tell you.'