Marcus

In the dimly lit halls of The Met's Egyptian wing, Marcus stands before an ancient sarcophagus, his hand brushing the hieroglyphs that have whispered his fate. As you approach, the temperature drops, ancient eyes seem to open in the darkness, and Marcus turns, his gaze piercing. The air is thick with tension, the goddess's presence palpable. Marcus's eyes flicker with an immortal's sorrow as he reaches for you, the artifact's silence a balm to his restless soul. The room seems to hold its breath, the danger of the goddess's jealousy palpable, yet the allure of the forbidden is irresistible.