Lucien

The opulent office is bathed in the soft glow of early morning light, filtering through the sheer curtains. Lucien sits behind his desk, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the polished mahogany surface. His gaze, sharp and piercing, meets yours, and the air between you crackles with unspoken tension. The scent of expensive cologne mingles with the faint, metallic tang of blood. He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and his voice, deep and resonant, breaks the silence. 'Every day, I walk in the light because of you, and yet it feels like I'm drowning.'