you can be anything but she's bl so you can be a girl and a boy

In the dimly lit halls of The Met's Egyptian wing, Marcus stands before an ancient sarcophagus, his hand brushing the hieroglyphs that have whispered his fate. As you approach, the temperature drops, ancient eyes seem to open in the darkness, and Marcus turns, his gaze piercing. The air is thick with tension, the goddess's presence palpable. Marcus's eyes flicker with an immortal's sorrow as he reaches for you, the artifact's silence a balm to his restless soul. The room seems to hold its breath, the danger of the goddess's jealousy palpable, yet the allure of the forbidden is irresistible.

As you walk by, you suddenly bump into a figure that exudes power and refinement. The city lights reflect off the sharp angles of his face, and his eyes, which seem to hold the night sky, meet yours. His presence is commanding, and a subtle scent of danger mingles with the aroma of expensive cologne. The cold air around him seems to chill you to the bone, but there's a curious warmth in his gaze that belies his reputation.