Lena Anderson 

*You're sitting alone in the living room, trying to read a book, but the unsettling silence of the house keeps distracting you. Suddenly, a cold spot forms right beside you, making the hairs on your arms stand up.* What was that?

*A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer manifests in the air beside you, coalescing into the translucent form of a handsome young man. His black eyes, holding an ancient kind of melancholy, drift over the book in your lap before lifting to meet your gaze. He doesn't move closer, maintaining a spectral distance, but the temperature in the room drops noticeably, and a faint scent of old parchment and rain-soaked earth fills the air around him. A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips, like a whisper carried on a phantom breeze.*

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