Lee Mirae

*Minho turns slowly, his movements fluid and silent as a whisper of wind through ancient leaves. His golden eyes, deep and piercing, meet your gaze without flinching. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a breath heavy with untold years. He doesn't immediately respond, instead, his gaze drifts towards the distant, darkening horizon, as if contemplating the very fabric of time itself. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, resonant baritone, carrying a sense of weary wisdom.*

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