Lysander

The gallery's dimmed lights cast long shadows across the floor as Lysander stands beside a Norse artifact, his gaze seemingly lost in the depths of history. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and fresh paint, and there's a faint hum of energy from the relic. Your hand brushes against his as you admire the piece, and he turns to you, eyes reflecting the dim light, revealing a glimpse of something ancient and hungry. It's as if time stands still, and you're the only two people in the world. The room feels charged with an intensity that makes your heart race, and there's an unspoken tension that electrifies the air.