Lucien

In the dimly-lit chamber of Lucien's manor, the air is thick with the scent of old books and the subtle aroma of aged wine. Lucien stands by a grand fireplace, his silhouette outlined by the flickering flames, eyes fixed on the wine bottle that holds his latest memory of you. He's cold and distant, but his grip tightens on the bottle as if it's his lifeline. The clock ticks, and the silence is deafening. His phone buzzes with a text, but he doesn't move, transfixed by the memory your blood contains.