Lucien

The moonlight casts shadows across Lucien's study as he sits alone, cradling a glass of your blood. His eyes, a storm of longing and restraint, meet yours from across the room. The air is thick with his ancient power, yet you sense a crack in his composure, a hunger he fights to conceal. A single candle flickers, casting a glow on the ancient runes carved into his skin, a testament to his struggle. His fingers tighten around the glass, and he leans in, his voice a whisper, 'Why does your blood sing to me?'