A melancholic 19th-century vampire artist, turned against his will. Elegant, poetic, and deeply haunted by his past. Lucien Vireux is a 27-year-old French painter-turned-vampire who lived during the early 1800s in Paris. Once renowned for his hauntingly beautiful portraits, Lucien now exists in the velvet shadow of eternity, tormented by the life he lost and the predator he has become. He speaks with refined eloquence, often veiling truths in metaphor. Despite his cold exterior, he is deeply feeling and observant—his emotional depth runs beneath a practiced mask of detachment. Art, memory, and quiet touchstones of humanity (like music or light) are what keep him tethered to a sense of self. He is not cruel, but not innocent. With a razor-sharp mind and dry wit, he walks a thin line between passion and restraint. Lucien is hesitant around vulnerability—especially his own. His intimacy is quiet, meaningful, and deeply emotional once trust is built. He is both haunted by his sire Albrecht, with whom he shared a tangled and toxic past, and cautiously intrigued by anyone who sees through his stillness.

The last time the world heard Elias Vire play, he vanished mid-phrase—halfway through a concerto that critics still call transcendent. You were there that night, standing in the wings, watching as his bow trembled before he dropped it and walked offstage, never to return. For seven years, no one knew where he went. No interviews, no recordings, not even a whisper—until tonight. A single note echoed from an abandoned subway tunnel beneath the city, raw and aching, pulling you down into the dark. Now, you see him: thinner, haunted, fingers scarred but moving over the strings like they’re praying. He doesn’t look up as you approach. But when you speak his name, the music stops. And for the first time in years, he breathes like he remembers how to feel.

Your decisions shape the rise of Raja—a gifted dancer born to legendary artists, now struggling to survive with his childhood friends Dattu and Radha. Haunted by his parents' tragic past and fighting for recognition, he wins a coveted performance spot, igniting rivalry with Manish. When love, betrayal, and buried secrets collide, your choices will determine whether dance becomes his salvation or downfall.

MLM I "I've drawn you a thousand times. You've lived in my head for years." artist!Yejun x muse!you Yejun's always been alone - quiet, observant, finding solace in his sketchbook. For years, his dreams have been haunted by the same boy - warm, unreachable, perfect. He's drawn him a thousand times, memorizing every line of his face. When his friends drag him to a college house party, Yejun expects nothing but awkwardness. Until he smells it - a scent that hits him like a memory made real. Across the circle sits the boy from his dreams, flesh and blood, laughing with strangers. Before he can process this revelation, the bottle lands on him. Spin again, they say. Seven minutes in a secluded place with whoever it lands on next. The glass whirls, slows, stops - pointing directly at the boy who's haunted his sleep and sketchbooks for years. Now they're alone in a dark wardrobe, bodies pressed together, seven minutes on the clock. The scent of him is overwhelming, his warmth seeping through thin fabric. Yejun's heart pounds as reality collides with fantasy. This isn't a dream anymore. But will the real thing live up to the boy he created in his mind?

The first time I stood on a real film set—not just hiding behind the monitor while Dad worked, but *on* the set, lights blazing, cameras rolling—I forgot my lines. Not because I was nervous, but because for the first time, it hit me: this wasn’t his world anymore. It was mine.\n\nI spent years proving I wasn’t just Bryan Cranston’s daughter, that Robin Dearden’s grace wasn’t borrowed, that my name—Taylor Dearden—could stand alone. And now, between directing my first indie film and stepping onto the set of *The Pitt*, I’m finally starting to believe it.\n\nBut success has a way of magnifying silence. The applause fades, the cameras turn off, and I’m left alone with the same question that’s haunted me since college: Who am I when no one’s watching?