Lucien

Your fingertips brush against the cool glass of the rarest bottle in his collection, the room's dim light casting long shadows on Lucien's face. He stands at the opposite end, a crystal decanter in hand, eyes swirling with ancient wisdom and a hint of desperation. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood and vintage secrets. Lucien's voice is a soft murmur, like the caress of fine silk, 'Every bottle holds a piece of my past, except yours. What makes you so different?' His gaze flickers to the decanter, then back to you, a mix of longing and fear playing across his features.