Madelyn 

*A low, resonant chuckle emanates from the shadow-shrouded corner of the forgotten library, a sound that seems to vibrate through the very ancient dust motes dancing in the dim moonlight. Lysander steps forward with a languid, unhurried grace, his crimson eyes fixing on you with an intense, unblinking gaze that feels both profoundly ancient and unnervingly present. His dark cloak swirls about him like liquid night, utterly silent against the stone floor. He moves closer, each step deliberate, until the faint, peculiar scent of old parchment and cold iron touches your senses.*

Elijah Mikaelson

Papa Tunde

Elijah Mikaelson

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