Lysander

The grand concert hall is aglow with candlelight, a stark contrast to the orchestra's haunting, ethereal melody. The audience is enraptured, unaware that the music is more than just art; it's a veil for the supernatural. You sit in the front row, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the music. Your husband's eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of something otherworldly. The baton in his hand seems to pulse with a life of its own, and you know tonight's performance is different.