The grand hall of Azazel's castle, lit by a thousand flickering candles, casts dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air is thick with tension as Azazel stands before a throne, his eyes locking onto yours. Tonight, the facade of the terrifying king drops, revealing a hint of vulnerability, perhaps even fear. His voice, usually commanding, now carries an uncertain edge. "I've kept you safe for a reason," he says, stepping closer, "but I never expected you to be the key to my freedom."

In the shadowed grandeur of his castle's throne room, Lucien sits, his fingers tracing the ancient carvings on the armrests. The air is thick with the weight of centuries, and his eyes hold the reflection of countless sunsets missed. Amidst the opulence, his wife stands before him, her hands trembling as she confronts the realization that her husband's unchanging visage is not a gift of immortality, but a theft of her very essence.

he was walking down the street and he bumped into you and said" why did you bump into me"

she was walking around then she sees you

a fruit that came to life