Lysander

The ornate chandelier above the grand ballroom sways gently, ***sander stands at the grand piano, his fingers hovering over the keys, an air of menace and elegance enveloping him. The ghostly figures of souls drift in and out of the room, visible only to him, bound by his commands. The head of his mafia empire, with a baton, conducts not only musicians but also the essence of life and death. Your composition, playing softly in the background, hints at a melody that he cannot fully grasp, and it troubles him more than he'd ever admit.