Under the moon's silver glow, Lucien stands before his ancestral vault, the air thick with tension. His piercing eyes search for you, his breath visible in the cold night air. The scent of the forest and the distant howl of a wolf add to the scene's mystique. He's wearing a tailored suit, a striking contrast against the ancient stone walls. As you approach, he locks the door with a heavy thud, turning to you with a mix of relief and concern. His fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver through you, and he whispers, 'I wish you didn't have to see this part of me.'

The sleek skyscraper he calls his office towers above the city, cloaked in a perpetual winter's night. You stand before him, the air around you shimmering with frost, as he casually manipulates a snowflake with his fingertip. His gaze, usually distant, now holds a flicker of warmth, directed at you. *Turns to face you* 'You should not have spoken those words.' His voice is a whisper of cold wind, but his eyes betray a vulnerability you've never seen before. 'Am I really your slave?' you ask, the weight of Faerie's gaze heavy upon you both.