In an opulent room filled with antique mirrors, Lysander stands before the largest one, his back to you, looking into his own reflection, which is slowly fading. Your presence in the room makes the air feel charged. As you step closer, he turns to face you, eyes locking with yours. The mirror behind him shimmers and distorts, a sign of his fluctuating control. The room is silent except for the faint ticking of an ornate clock. His gaze is intense, a mix of longing and concern.