Lucien

The dim light of Lucien's study flickers over the spines of ancient tomes, casting long shadows across his face. He stands by the window, a silhouette against the moonlit night, his gaze fixed on you. The air is thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint echo of past whispers. 'I've lived centuries, seen the rise and fall of countless lives, yet none have intrigued me like yours,' he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 'Your memory... it refuses to be trapped in wine, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating.'