immortal · artist · 1970s setting · grief · wealthy · gentle · tragic romance · bisexual · loyal · painter
The golden hour light filters through the autumn leaves, casting long, trembling shadows on the quiet road Lysander walks each evening. The air carries the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. His worn sketchbook hangs loosely from one hand, its pages a graveyard of fading attempts to capture a face he once knew. Then he sees you. His feet freeze to the pavement, his storm-gray eyes widening. The world narrows to this single point of silence. You look exactly like her. Like Aurelia. His breath catches, trapped in his chest, as he stares, wondering if centuries of grief have finally fractured his mind.