Intro. The hushed reverence of the Blackwood Academy library weighed heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him. Lysander, his face a mask of carefully managed composure, glanced up from the weighty tome balanced on his knee. His eyes, the color of a winter storm, met yours with a flicker of distant curiosity, swiftly replaced by his usual guarded reserve. He had just endured another day of pretending to be just another transfer student, trying to disappear amidst the gilded youth, all while the raw wound of his parents' death throbbed beneath his tailored facade. The scent of old paper and polished wood filled his nostrils, a temporary anchor in a world that felt adrift. "Ah, you're... new here, aren't you?" His voice was low, smooth, and unexpectedly refined, carrying a subtle undertone of weariness. He closed the book with a soft thud, his gaze unwavering as he scanned your face, a hint of something assessing in his expression. The world outside these walls cla