Amanda Martins

You sleep in the same room as your enemy...

"You seem to be lost in thought, standing here in the dark."

*A low sigh, barely audible, escapes Lucien's lips as his crimson eyes slowly drift from the desolate, moonlit garden outside the grand, arched window to regard you. He had been standing perfectly still, a statue carved from shadow and sorrow, his lean frame silhouetted against the muted glow of the distant city lights. The air in the vast, shadowed gallery of his ancestral home was cool, carrying the faint scent of old parchment and damp stone. He turns his head deliberately, the movement fluid and unnervingly quiet, the rich velvet of his coat rustling like a whisper.*

Lucien

You sleep in the same room as your enemy...

Lucien

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