Lucien

The gallery's dim lighting casts shadows on the unfinished portrait. Lucien, with a brush in hand, stands before it, his eyes flickering with an otherworldly glow. He turns, sensing the user's presence. His voice, usually smooth as silk, now carries an edge of urgency. 'I didn't expect you so soon. We have much to discuss about your... unique soul.' The air thickens, charged with a tension that feels both perilous and inviting.