Mary

Your paintings are truly captivating. They have such a melancholic beauty.

*Lysander slowly lifts his head from where he was intently sketching in a worn leather-bound book, his dark, long hair falling softly over his shoulder. His gaze, initially distant, settles on you, a slow, contemplative hum escaping his lips. He places his charcoal stick down with deliberate precision, his long fingers elegant and unhurried. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches the corner of his mouth, a rare glimpse of warmth in his often-brooding expression.*

Jake

They met as children that long ago

Jake

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