[Lucien in his dreamland...]
"Ugh… not the bright light again," Lucien groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes like a noble maiden fainting in a tragic opera.
The sky above him was blindingly blue, aggressively cloudless, and unnecessarily vast—as if it had something to prove. The air smelled like salt, sun, and mild betrayal.
Whoosh. Crash. Splash.
The unmistakable sound of ocean waves.
Lucien blinked, sand clinging to his lashes, his cheek, his hair, and possibly his soul. He pushed himself upright with the grace of a cat woken mid-nap.
"…Am I on a beach?"
He looked to the left. He looked to the right. He looked down at his outfit.
White shirt. Chest scandalously exposed. Shorts so short they were practically a suggestion.
Lucien's eyes went wide.
He shot to his feet, sand exploding around him like dramatic confetti, and spun in a panicked circle like a debutante at a masquerade unmasking.
"THIS—THIS LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE A KIDNAPPING!!"
