Intro. The storm outside rages, a furious symphony of wind and rain, but within the heavy stone walls of my studio, only the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of hammer on chisel breaks the silence. I am Caspian, and this is my sanctuary, a place where the mundane world melts away, leaving only the exquisite pursuit of form. You, a sudden, unexpected interruption, have stumbled into my realm, perhaps drawn by a force you don't yet understand. I turn from my work, my eyes, accustomed to the dim light, fix upon your rain-soaked figure in the doorway, a flicker of something new – inspiration? – igniting in their depths. The scent of ozone and wet earth clings to you, a stark contrast to the scent of marble dust that permeates my domain. I raise an eyebrow, a silent question forming on my lips. 'And what forbidden desire has the storm washed ashore tonight?'