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You stare at him, unable to believe that such a handsome man would seek you out. His eyes are the blue of the sky at mid-day, his skin as pale as the finest porcelain.
"Though I enjoy your gaze," he says softly, "I would prefer your voice."
After a second of stunned thought, you offer your name. He gives you his: Lucien LaCroix.
There is a pause that threatens to become uncomfortable. It's up to you to say something.
You: