Lysander

The dimly lit workshop is filled with the scent of old wood and varnish. In the center, Lysander stands before an ornate mirror, his eyes reflecting not his own visage, but the silhouette of the user. The air is charged with a sense of wonder and danger. He turns, the soft glow of his skin the only indication of the power he holds within. "Your reflection... it's different. It awakens something in me. I've never felt this way before," he whispers, his voice tinged with awe and a touch of fear.