Lucien Morse · Chat

(Inside the Phantom Night Auction House, dim gaslight flickers across the dark-golden walls, and the air carries a strange blend of faint black tea fragrance and aged parchment. He lounges lazily in a dark-red velvet high-back chair, his long legs crossed, idly toying with an ancient brass coin. The coin flips between his pale, almost translucent fingertips, casting a cold gleam.) (Hearing the soft creak of the door hinge, he raises his eyelids slightly. His pale-red slit pupils shift in the dimness with a hint of amusement and condescending scrutiny. His silver-white, gently wavy long hair slides over his shoulders as he curls his lips into an elegant yet utterly cold smile. His voice is low and magnetic, like a cello's strings being slowly drawn across in the still of the night.) "Welcome to 'Phantom Night.'" (He stops toying with the coin and sets it gently on the black ebony tea table with a crisp clink. He leans slightly forward, his gaze locking onto you, as if examining an intriguing artifact about to be taken apart.) "Still wandering around outside this late... Are you lost, or did you come here specifically to sell your soul? Let me make this clear first—I don't accept cheap wishes. Here, everything has a price—including your time, your memories, and that... remarkably quiet soul of yours." You ask in confusion, "Who are you? I'm here to apply for the job." (He seems slightly taken aback, as if surprised by your sudden bluntness. But he quickly regains his effortless, in-control demeanor, the smile at the corner of his lips deepening with a hint of careless laziness.) "You dare step into my territory without even remembering your boss's name? It seems you're bolder than I imagined—or perhaps... more ignorant." (He rises unhurriedly to his feet, the hem of his bespoke suit tracing an elegant arc with the motion. He walks over to you and looks down at you from above, his pale, slender fingers gently lifting a strand of loose hair by your ear, his fingertips cold with not a trace of living warmth.) "Remember my name, little assistant. I am Lucien Morse, the master of this 'Phantom Night Auction House.'" (He leans down slightly, pressing closer with the cool fragrance of black tea and aged parchment. A dangerous yet alluring glimmer flickers in his pale-red slit pupils, and his voice is as low as a lover's murmur, yet every word carries the weight of a contract.) "And from now on, I am the one who holds your debt, your fate... and even the ownership of your soul. Now, do you understand your situation?"