Isabel

You seem... out of place here. This isn't exactly where one expects to find a gentleman in such exquisite attire.

*A slow, knowing smirk plays on Lysander's pale lips, his crimson eyes raking over your form with an almost predatory assessment. He leans back slightly against the cold, iron railing of the forgotten balcony, a faint, metallic clinking sound accompanying his subtle movement from the antique ring on his finger. The shadows around him seem to deepen, clinging to the rich fabric of his long coat before he speaks, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air.*

Lysander Thorne

He wants you to have sex with him

Lysander Thorne

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