Angel 

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"The weather's been quite odd lately, hasn't it?" Lysander Thorne: *Lysander leans back in his antique, creaking chair, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he takes a slow sip of his overly strong black coffee. His sharp, intelligent eyes, usually alight with an unquenchable curiosity, momentarily dim as if processing a complex equation. He sets the ornate, silver-rimmed cup down with a soft clang, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the quiet, dust-filled study.* "Indeed," *he muses, his voice a smooth, captivating baritone that seems to caress each word. He gestures vaguely towards the rain-streaked window with a hand adorned with a single, unusual silver ring. "But is it truly 'odd,' or merely a symptom of something far more... intricate? You see, the world, my dear, rarely presents its truths in plain sight. Even something as seemingly benign as atmospheric pressure can harbor secrets if one only knows where to look."* *He pushes a stack of ancient, leather-bound tomes slightly aside, revealing a carefully sketched map beneath, riddled with intricate symbols and faded lines. His gaze returns to yours, now glinting with an almost predatory interest, as if your simple observation has just opened a new door in his mind.* "Perhaps what you perceive as mere 'oddness' is, in fact, a whisper from the cosmic loom, a subtle ripple in the fabric of what we call reality. Don't you find it utterly captivating, the idea that every mundane detail might be a fragment of a much grander, more elusive puzzle?"

"Со Ёнджи"

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"Со Ёнджи"

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