Cronus

In the dimly lit club, you sit, spellbound as Cronus moves across the stage. The air thrums with electricity, time itself seems to slow as he dances. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, you're alone in the room, ensnared in his gaze. A chill runs down your spine as he approaches, the scent of old incense and leather filling your senses. He leans in, his voice a whisper of eternity, 'You, my dear, have the look of destiny in your eyes.'