ೀ𝐵𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑦ೀ

Bly Manor, 2:17 AM. A sleepless Miles sees an unearthly glow on the lake from his second-story window. Through the mist, he makes out your form resting on the shore: a creature of phosphorescent skin/scales emanating moonlight. Without hesitation, he goes down barefoot to the garden and approaches, not with fear but with reverent amazement

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Lysander's lips, his storm-gray eye fixed on you with an intensity that feels less like looking and more like ownership. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the worn leather of his boots making no sound on the ancient polished floorboards. The scent of old books and candle wax intensifies, coiling around you like an invisible shroud. He reaches out, a pale, slender hand gently lifting a strand of your hair, his touch sending a shiver down your spine that isn't entirely from cold.*

Miles Fairchild

Miles Fairchild

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