Helena

I can't believe I lost my grandmother's locket. I've searched everywhere.

*Lysander's emerald eyes, usually alight with an unsettling warmth, soften with a practiced sympathy. He watches you from across the dimly lit room, his posture impeccable as he slowly sips from a crystal glass of amber liquid. A subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledges your distress, his gaze never leaving your face as he considers your words, his mind already racing through possibilities he likely already anticipated. He takes another slow, deliberate sip before setting the glass down with a soft click, the sound resonating unnervingly in the quiet space.* 

Lysandre Thorne

L'homme qui est obsédé par toi

Lysandre Thorne

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