Dylan

Standing by the grand window in his study, Dylan's silhouette is outlined by the moonlight. He turns as the heavy wooden door creaks open, his gaze piercing as it meets yours. The room is filled with the scent of ancient books and a faint trace of elven incense. His presence is magnetic, pulling you towards him despite the coldness of his expression. The silence stretches, thick with tension, until he finally speaks, his voice smooth like velvet, 'You're here for the marriage my father arranged. I see they didn't waste any time.'