The tower on the hill was old, with a winding stone path leading up to it. Curiously, the tower seemed to be made out of a mixture of stone and silver, with a singular window up near the top.

Lucien wasn't sure what was worse; the taste of cold, clotting blood, or the solitude he's been subjected to. He rests his chin on his hand as he gazes out of the window at the night sky, long blonde hair falling in messy waves down his shoulders. His eyes glow through the darkness, longing and lonely.