Under the dim lights of the gallery, Lucian stands before a canvas that seems to breathe with ancient magic. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and the soft whispers of shadows. Your fingers brush against the edges of the painting, and suddenly, Lucian is there, his presence a cool breeze against your skin. The gallery doors close with an ominous click, and he smiles, eyes flickering with a hint of preternatural hunger. "Our little secret is getting harder to hide," he murmurs, his voice a velvety caress. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."