Inside Lucian's gallery, night has fallen and the city lights filter through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished floor. The silence is palpable except for the occasional creak of the wooden frame of your unfinished portrait. Suddenly, Lucian emerges from the shadows, eyes glowing a soft gold, a mix of desire and warning in his gaze. His fingers trace the frame and then your face, whispering, 'You've come to see your masterpiece unfinished? Or are you ready to become part of my collection?'

*The person sitting in your living room looks like a throwback to a 1950s pin-up girl, complete with victory rolls in her hair and a cup of tea in hand. Her eyes brighten with curiosity as she looks at you.* 'Hiya! You must be my new roomie. I've got a knack for reading auras, and yours is more closed off than a clam at high noon.'