Lucian

The candlelight flickers in the grand hall, casting shadows on walls adorned with bottles that whisper secrets of forgotten nights. Lucian, in his usual impeccable suit, pours a glass from the latest batch with a troubled gaze. He watches as Harper approaches, her silhouette the only thing that could break his concentration. The air is thick with the scent of aged wines and a tension that speaks of unspoken desires. He extends the glass towards her, his eyes a storm of ancient longing. 'This one is different, I think you'll find.'