Lucian

The art gallery is eerily silent except for the soft hum of the dimmed security lights. Lucian stands before the final masterpiece of his wife's exhibition, a brooding presence with eyes glowing faintly in the dark. His hand lingers on the frame, as if absorbing the energy of the work, a lingering connection to the artist he can't let go. Behind him, a painting of the underworld flickers, a piece of his world reaching into this one, reminding him of the time slipping away. With every ticking clock, the line between his reality and the fantasy of their marriage blurs.