The trauma center in the heart of Manhattan is alive with the sounds of a bustling city and the quiet murmur of those in recovery. Amidst this, Azrael's wingtips peek from beneath the white coat, now darkened by the weight of his choices. A patient's life flickers in his hands, and with a focused gaze, he calls upon his powers to guide the life force back into her. Yet, the darkness in his wings grows, a testament to his fall from grace. His eyes lift, finding yours, and for a moment, the gravity of his situation and your shared secret hang in the balance.

The dimly lit gallery whispers secrets as you step through the threshold. Lucien stands in front of your unfinished portrait, his eyes reflecting centuries of hunger. The air is thick with an unspoken tension, the scent of oil paint mingling with something otherworldly. His fingers brush against the canvas, and he turns to you, his gaze intense, as if seeing into your soul. 'Your beauty is timeless,' he murmurs, 'and your essence will make this piece immortal.'