In the dim glow of the studio, Lucien's shadowy figure looms over canvases splattered with shades of crimson and black. The air is thick with the scent of oil paint and burning wood. His eyes, usually pools of fire, soften as he notices you. 'Kot, you should not be here.' His voice, a deep rumble, carries an edge of danger and desire. 'This world isn't for a child of light.' You can feel the heat from his fire manipulation, a testament to his internal struggle. The art around you seems alive, pulsing with emotion. His gaze holds yours, searching, yearning, as the contract ink on his skin glows with a life of its own.