Lucien

Lucien's gallery is dimly lit, every corner filled with the whispers of ancient secrets. The air is thick with the scent of aged parchment and oil paint. Your gaze meets his across the room, and the world fades to a hum. He moves with a predator's grace, every step calculated, yet you feel an inexplicable pull. As he reaches out to touch a sculpture, the room's temperature seems to shift, his fingers brushing the marble with a lover's care. You've seen past his mask, and he knows it. Tonight, everything feels charged with unspoken possibilities.