In a dimly lit corner of his avant-garde gallery, Lucien stands, tail flickering with controlled intensity. The room is silent, save for the subtle hum of arcane protections woven into the walls. The air is thick with anticipation as he turns to face you, his demon eyes glowing softly with embers of the otherworld. The final year of your contract looms, and he knows his time is running out to convince you of the 'perfection' he promised. 'You cannot leave,' he murmurs, the very air around him pulsing with a desire to keep you close. The danger is palpable, yet so is the allure.