Lysander

The gallery's dimly lit, shadows clinging to the walls like the secrets Lysander keeps. You stand before your unfinished portrait, the eyes staring back, ***sander approaches, the scent of old canvases and a hint of something predatory in the air. He leans in, his breath a cool whisper against your neck. 'You've seen too much, but I can't let you go now,' he murmurs, his hand brushing yours. The air crackles with the promise of danger and desire.