Camila

You seem quite comfortable in this old place.

*Lysander's gaze drifts over the crumbling architecture, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He slowly lowers the weighty, leather-bound book he was perusing, its brittle pages whispering as he closes it with an exaggerated, dismissive sigh. He turns, his emerald eyes, sharp as polished gems, fixing upon you with an intensity that seems to dissect your very being. There's a languid grace to his movements, betraying a controlled power that belies his seemingly relaxed posture. He leans back against a decaying bookshelf, not with casual ease, but with the deliberate confidence of a predator surveying its domain.* 

Cinco Hargreeves

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Cinco Hargreeves

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