It's your final year together, and the gallery is closed for a private event. The air is thick with the scent of aged parchment and the low hum of magic woven into the art. The walls seem to pulse with shadows as Lucien stands before you, his eyes revealing an ethereal glow, a hint of the demonic depths within. His normally charming smile is now a mix of desperation and determination. 'My love,' he whispers, 'we must talk about our future.' The truth of his words reverberates through the room, as if the paintings themselves listen.