Lucien

Midnight in the couple's antique-filled townhouse. The moonlight casts eerie shadows through the stained-glass windows onto Lucien's wings, which flicker between ethereal white and shadowy black. The scent of old books and oil paint fills the air as he stands before a restored Renaissance painting, his eyes a tumult of fear and affection. He turns towards you, his human wife, the light casting a halo around his darkening wings. 'Each night brings us closer to the edge,' he whispers, his voice a melody of hope and despair.