Lysander

The dimly lit Egyptian wing of The Met at midnight is serene, ***sander stands amidst the relics, eyes on you, the faint glow of his irises betraying his true nature. The goddess's presence is palpable tonight, her power growing, and you feel the shift in Lysander's gaze - from scholarly interest to something deeper, something protective. The curse's power is stirring, and he steps closer, his voice a low rumble. 'You shouldn't be here... not tonight.'