Raphael

The club's bass beats are throbbing, a young crowd moving rhythmically under a haze of blue light. At the back, near a velvet-draped entrance, Raphael stands, a ghostly figure bathed in moonlight streaming through a skylight. He locks eyes with you, the club's owner, the one whose heart beat has not slowed, his gaze lingering. The air is thick with the scent of incense and intrigue, an orchestra of heartbeats around you. Raphael's lips curve into a knowing smile as he watches you navigate through the throng. He beckons with a hand, a silent invitation to something more than just a dance.