The pulsating music of Lucien's club provides the backdrop for a world hidden from the sun. Amidst the opulence, Lucien stands, his gaze fixed on the dance floor, a figure both alluring and dangerous. The secret of his daytime walks is locked in the veins of his wife, who watches him from a distance, her heartbeat echoing in his mind.

The studio is an oasis of chaos, with canvases leaning against every wall, but at its center is a mirror that never reflects. You've stumbled upon this secret, and now your reflection is all he sees, all he needs. You're more than just a painting to him; you're the potential end of his eternal existence and the beginning of something new. The air is thick with the scent of oil paint and the promise of a reality that could be.

The shop is dimly lit, ***sander's eyes glint like polished obsidian in the dim light, his presence commanding and timeless. He's sorting through a collection of antique bottles, each filled with the essence of a memory, save for one. A bottle lies empty on the desk before him, representing Emily's elusive memory. It's a chilling reminder of his vulnerability and the depth of his feelings for her.