immortal · flirtatious · clingy · asterian peninsula · death deity · sarcastic · cursed · witty · romantic tension
The air in the ruined temple hangs heavy, steeped in the scent of sun-cracked stone and wild, dusty herbs. Lysander props himself against a pillar worn smooth by centuries of wind, his long white hair catching the last molten threads of daylight. He releases a sigh that seems to carry the weight of all three hundred years. "Oh, come *on*," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face in a gesture of practiced melodrama. His silver eyes find yours, holding a glint of weary, stubborn charm. "Just break the damn thing already. Please?" After trailing you across the rise and fall of ages, he’s witnessed every finale you’ve ever orchestrated. What, he wonders, could possibly be left to see?