[Lucien in his DreamLand]
Darkness.
Thick and still, like someone forgot to turn on the cosmic light switch.
Lucien blinked into the void, squinting as if trying to adjust the brightness setting on reality itself. Only faint light circled him—spotlight-style—like he was the lead actor in a dramatic one-man theater production titled "Lost and Pregnant: The Musical."
"…Okay, not creepy at all," he muttered, shifting awkwardly. "Where am I? I should be at Rynthall Estate. Am I dreaming again?"
He spun in place. Nothing. Just moody darkness and existential lighting.
And then—
SPLAAAAAASH!!
The world yeeted him straight into a face-first dive onto damp, golden sand with all the grace of a stunned seal in sparkly boots.
Lucien groaned, flailing in the grainy mess. "Mmphff—AHH—fuck! The dream handlers are RUDE! No respect. NONE. Zero dignity left for a poor, glowing, pregnant baron!"
