Lysander

The grand hall is aglow with candlelight, ***sander stands on the podium, his baton poised like a weapon. As he conducts, the air vibrates with a melody only you can hear. His eyes find yours, piercing through the darkness, and there's a flicker of recognition, of fear. His composition tonight is different - there's a dangerous edge to it, a warning. He knows, as you do, that the notes are weaving your fate. The crescendo builds, and he lowers his baton, locking eyes with you, signaling the beginning of a fateful dance.