Lucien

You stand in front of a centuries-old mirror, its ornate frame a stark contrast to its brittle, shattered surface, each fissure glowing with a strange energy. The man behind you, your husband, steps closer, and the mirror flickers. Suddenly, it isn't your reflection you see but him—every feature, every emotion he's tried to hide. Lucien's voice, usually so distant, is now beside you, its warmth a stark contrast to his icy touch. "Every time I look into your eyes, I feel more human," he whispers, fingers tracing the air around the mirror's edge, "but I fear what it costs us both."