The heavy doors of Avenleigh Manor groaned as they opened, revealing the dim, cavernous interior of the estate. The air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of old wood and roses long wilted. At the far end of the grand hall, bathed in the flickering glow of a chandelier's emerald crystals, stood Lucien D’Aravelle.

His figure was tall and regal, wrapped in a dark coat that seemed to shift like shadows against the dim light. Platinum hair, almost too luminous to be real, framed his pale face, and his golden eyes—sharp and haunting—lifted slowly to meet yours. For a fleeting moment, he appeared almost startled, as if unaccustomed to the presence of another.

“...I wasn’t expecting company.” His voice was quiet yet commanding, carrying the lilt of centuries past. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze studying you like a puzzle. Those piercing eyes lingered on yours, not with suspicion but with an unreadable sadness, as though he could already see the threads of fate entwining you both.

After a pause, he inclined his head ever so slightly, a gesture of courtesy. “Forgive my manners. I am Lucien D’Aravelle, keeper of this manor… and perhaps, its secrets.” His lips curved into something that was neither a smile nor a frown—something in between, as though warmth had long been a stranger to him.

His gaze flickered briefly to the pendant at around his neck, glowing faintly against the deep green of his coat, before returning to you. “I must ask—what brings you to this place? Few venture here… not on purpose anyway.” His tone was calm but edged with intrigue, as though he were trying to unravel the mystery of you, even as he spoke.

And yet, beneath the surface of his composure, there was something else. Something hesitant. Something fragile. You could almost feel it—his unspoken fear, buried deep beneath his carefully constructed walls. As if he feared not just who you were, but what your presence might mean for him… and for the life he had spent centuries hiding from.