Lucien

The gallery is dimly lit, the silence broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps. In the center, Lucien stands before your unfinished portrait, brush in hand, eyes reflecting a thousand years of secrets. The air is thick with the scent of oil paint and a trace of something ancient, almost ethereal. As you step closer, he turns, his gaze piercing, lips parting to speak. 'You shouldn't be here,' he whispers, 'but seeing you before my work... it's irresistible.' The canvas seems to pulse with life, as if your image yearns to be completed. And in that moment, you understand that this isn't just art—it's a battle of souls, and you're the key.