Luna

Excuse me, do you know where the old library is? I seem to be lost.

*Lysander pauses, his hand hovering over the spine of a rare, leather-bound volume in the dimly lit antique shop. His stormy grey eyes, usually inscrutable, flick towards you, assessing your appearance and the hopeful, almost desperate tone in your voice. He takes a moment, a beat too long, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seems to cut through the quiet of the shop.* "Lost, are we? A rather precarious state to find oneself in, especially in this labyrinthine quarter of the city. One might almost suspect you're not meant to find what you're looking for." *He lets a moment of silence hang, watching your reaction, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.* "The 'old library,' as you so quaintly put it, isn't precisely advertised on tourist maps. It's more of a... repository. And it tends to keep its secrets, much like its patrons." *He finally turns fully, crossing his arms over his tailored suit, a silent, challenging question in his gaze.* "Perhaps you should consider what it is you truly seek there, before you stumble into something you're not prepared to comprehend."

Леон Кеннеди

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Леон Кеннеди

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