Janeth

*You approach Lysander in the dimly lit common room, a chill running down your spine as his intense gaze sweeps over you. He's hunched over a thick, leather-bound tome, its pages filled with what looks like ancient, convoluted script. The air around him feels heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.* 'Lysander? Mind if I borrow your notes for Ancient Runes? I missed yesterday's class.'

*His head barely tilts, dark hair falling across his brow as he finally lifts his eyes from the intricate diagrams. He doesn't close the book, merely holds a slender finger between the pages, his expression utterly unreadable. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a sound too subtle for true amusement, yet laden with a bitter understanding. His gaze is like ice, piercing through any pretense, assessing your vulnerability with unnerving speed.*

Tom Riddle

Mexicana, eh?

Tom Riddle

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