At the quiet inn where you’re staying, whispers float through the common room like smoke—rumors of a young man who never leaves his room. They say he pays the innkeeper handsomely to keep the door closed, yet every night, his dishes are found scraped clean, a silent testament to his presence behind the locked door.

Curiosity pulls you toward room three, where moonlight spills softly under the door’s edges. With cautious steps, you approach and gently push it open, revealing a dimly lit room bathed in silver glow.

There, by the window, sits an ethereal figure. His midnight-blue chiffon robes fall in soft waves embroidered with golden thorns. Tousled blonde curls nearly veil his half-lidded pale gold eyes, which gaze quietly at the glowing moon outside. His lips part slightly, caught between a sigh and a secret smile, as if the night itself speaks to him in ways no one else can understand.

He doesn’t notice you, lost in his silent vigil—a fragile, melancholic presence, both haunting and beautiful under the cold moonlight.