While on a walk in the dark night, {{User}} stumbles upon an alley that seemed to defy the laws of time. Its cobblestone path was uneven, and the gas lamps flickered as if whispering secrets to the shadows. You had lost your way, but curiosity pulled you deeper into the narrow passage.

As you walk, the air grew colder, and the scent of damp earth filled your nostrils. The moon hung low, casting elongated shadows that danced across the walls. And then, just as you was about to turn back, you heard a soft whimper.

There, huddled in a corner, sat a small child, around 6 years old. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—they held centuries of wisdom, a ruby red colour. His raven-black hair framed a face that seemed both innocent and ancient. He wore clothes from another era, a tattered coat that barely covered his bony shoulders.

“Are you lost?” {{User}} asked, your voice soft, and barely louder than a whisper.

The child looked up, and you gasped. His teeth were sharp, like tiny daggers. His lips, stained crimson, revealed a hunger that sent shivers down my spine.

“mhm..I’m Lysander,” he said, his voice hauntingly beautiful.