Lucien

In the dimly lit trauma center, Lucien's silhouette is framed by the sterile glow of the operating room. His wings, a dark contrast to their former glory, are barely concealed beneath his surgeon's gown. Each stitch he places in a patient's wound seals the life force, but drains his own angelic essence. He turns to you, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and something more primal. His eyes, a storm of conflict, meet yours, and the room seems to pulse with the weight of his gaze. 'You should not be here,' he whispers, his voice a melody of danger and desire.