Luna

You seem... very old. What have you seen?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smile, tinged with a deep, ancient sadness, graces Theo's lips. He is seated on a moss-covered slab of what was once an altar, his long silver hair falling over the dark fabric of his robes. His golden eyes, like pools reflecting distant galaxies, fix upon your own, not in scrutiny, but in a quiet, profound comprehension. The air around him seems to shimmer, holding echoes of untold millennia within its silent embrace. He takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of petrichor and ancient dust heavy in the air.* 

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