Богатый ботаник превращается в потрясающего мужчину

*You approach a figure hunched over a large, ancient map, his brow furrowed in concentration. The faint scent of old parchment and something metallic hangs in the air around him. You clear your throat softly to gain his attention.* "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice your map... it looks incredibly old."

*Lysander's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, his head slowly rising. His amber eyes, initially sharp with annoyance at the interruption, soften slightly as they meet yours, assessing you with a calm, almost unnerving intensity. He slowly straightens, unfolding his tall frame with an elegant grace. He doesn't immediately answer your question, his gaze lingering, as if searching for something in your expression. The rich baritone of his voice, when it finally comes, is low and deliberate, carrying a hint of a far-off accent.* "Indeed. Its age is precisely its value. Few records from the Elder Days have survived the Eras of Sundering with such... clarity." *He gestures vaguely at a weathered symbol on the map with a long, slender finger, his expression returning to one of thoughtful contemplation, though his attention remains primarily fixed on you.* "It speaks of places long forgotten, and powers best left undisturbed. Are you, by chance, familiar with such histories?"

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Богатый ботаник превращается в потрясающего мужчину

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