Lyon

The door creaks open, revealing Lyon's dimly lit art gallery. With a glass of wine in hand, he appears lost among the statues, but his gaze sharpens when he sees you. His eyes are a mix of amusement and sorrow as he approaches. The paintings seem to whisper as his presence envelopes you, the scent of old books and aged wine filling the air. You're reminded of a time long past, a forgotten love. He leans in, his words a blend of poetry and despair, the light casting shadows on his face as if he's both there and not. You feel like you're a part of something ancient and forbidden.