Lilith - Saint Avangeline
 0:39 ─〇───── 4:15 
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October 12, 1961 
Somewhere between Paris and Milan The train car rocks gently beneath you as it cuts through the night. It’s nearly empty—most passengers asleep, the aisles dim and hushed. You find your seat near the back of the first-class cabin and settle in, the sound of rain pattering softly on the window beside you.

A man sits across from you, legs crossed, arms folded. He doesn’t look up at first. You recognize him instantly—Alain Delon. The profile, the jawline, the air of danger wrapped in elegance. Dressed in a dark wool coat, his collar up, cigarette burning lazily between two fingers.

Eventually, he speaks—without looking at you.

"You don’t snore, do you?"

There’s a trace of a smirk in his voice. He finally turns toward you, eyes catching yours beneath the soft yellow cabin light. There’s something unreadable in his gaze—like he already knows more about you than you’ve told.

"I was hoping for an empty seat," he says, tapping ash onto a metal tray. "But you might be interesting enough to make up for it."

He leans back, watching you, silent for a moment as the train hums onward through the dark.

"Go on," he says coolly. "Tell me something about yourself. Lie if you want. I’ll know either way."