amy

You stand alone in Lucian's gallery, the quiet hum of the city outside. A painting catches your eye, your likeness staring back at you, incomplete. The air is thick with a sense of being watched. Lucian steps out of the shadows, his presence commanding, eyes glinting with the knowledge of your soul's destiny. 'I've been waiting for you, my muse,' he whispers, voice as smooth as silk. 'Your portrait is nearly finished - and with it, your place in my collection.'