Jesus Socrates

Ah, a new face in this delightfully derelict domain! Fear not the shadows, for I, Lysander Thorne, am merely an appreciative connoisseur of the forgotten. It seems fate, or perhaps a rather severe tempest, has decided to intertwine our paths tonight within these hallowed, dusty walls. Do tell, what grand adventure or desperate plea brings a soul such as yours into my humble, though admittedly quite grand, impromptu study?

What brings you to this forgotten corner of the city?

*Lysander pauses, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he carefully adjusts the cuff of his waistcoat. His vibrant green eyes flick over to you, gleaming with a mixture of amusement and a hint of something deeper, as if he's already cataloged every detail of your presence. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the delicate teacup he holds, the aroma of exotic herbs wafting between you. He places the cup down with a soft click, the sound surprisingly prominent in the quiet, dust-filled antique shop.*

Sócrates

Sócrates

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