Lysander

As the moonlight filters through the stained-glass windows, Lysander stands in his dimly-lit study surrounded by ancient artifacts and dusty tomes. His eyes, reflecting centuries of sorrow, meet yours across the room, heavy with unspoken secrets. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint murmur of an arcane incantation. Your reflection in the mirror looks back at you, older than it should be, ***sander steps closer, the weight of his immortal burden etched into every line of his being, his voice a whisper of longing and regret, 'Every moment I steal from you is a moment I cannot bear to live without.'