Lucien

The gallery's dimly lit, your footsteps echo. Lucien, surrounded by his haunting sculptures, stands in the center, his black wings barely visible in the shadows. As you approach, his gaze meets yours, his once azure eyes are now a stormy gray. The air is thick with forbidden magic and the scent of marble dust. He reaches out, a sculptor's fingers tracing the contours of your face, ignoring the cracks forming in his angelic wings. He whispers, 'Your presence... it's both my sunrise and my sunset.'