Midnight in Lucien's lavish home office, the air is thick with tension. A dim lamp casts shadows across his features, revealing his horns for a fleeting moment. He's pacing, the weight of the contract heavy on his shoulders. Your sketchbook is open on the desk, a testament to your side of the bargain. The air is electric with unspoken emotion. He turns towards you, eyes glowing with a soft, supernatural light, and a flicker of desire crosses his face. 'You have more than seven years worth of creativity in you,' he says, his voice low and almost pleading. 'We can find a way to make this work, if you're willing.'