[color=lightgray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Ys69OMJ.png[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=Brown]Time:[/color] 10:00 AM
[color=Brown]Location:[/color]Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts
[color=Brown]Mention:[/color] [@Helo] Rohit
[color=Brown]Attire:[url=https://imgur.com/41xESPn]A Suit Fit For A True Artist[/url][/color][/center][hr]

The faint glow of candlelight illuminated the gallery’s opulent halls, casting a warm sheen on the polished marble floors. Among the throng of visitors, Milo St. Claire observed with silent reverence. 

The artist was dressed in a striking black suit adorned with intricate gold embroidery, the lavish design curling over the fabric like gilded vines. The tailored coat hugged his form perfectly, each flourish of gold shimmering faintly under the gallery’s warm lighting. A high-collared ivory shirt and an opulent cravat completed the ensemble, punctuated by a delicate golden chain draped across his vest. A sleek black cane, more for flair than function, tapped rhythmically against the floor as he moved. His hair, golden and meticulously styled to look effortless, caught the light like threads of spun sunshine. He carried himself as though the room existed for him alone…a presence both magnetic and slightly theatrical.

His sharp hazel eyes flitted over the crowd, studying expressions and gestures as though each person were a character in a story he was silently composing. But then his attention sharpened, landing on a figure standing before [i]Reflections of Reverie[/i]. Something in the way this individual lingered…a certain depth in their posture, perhaps, or the intensity of their gaze—piqued Milo’s interest.

A rapping of his cane in synchronicity with each of his steps announced his arrival before the man himself appeared, gliding through the gallery like a performer entering the stage. He stopped just shy of Rohit, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, alluring hazel eyes alight with curiosity.

[color=Bisque]"I couldn’t help but notice,"[/color] Milo began, his voice smooth and lilting, [color=Bisque]"the way you lingered in the Reflections of Reverie exhibit. Your expression was... [i]fascinating[/i]…like someone who’d been caught in the jaws of an entity they couldn't quite escape. Or perhaps I'm projecting."[/color] He laughed lightly, the sound warm but with a faint edge, as though he relished the mystery his words might conjure.

With a dramatic flourish, he extended a hand. [color=Bisque]"Milo St. Claire."[/color] His eyes sparkled with amusement as he introduced himself.  [color=Bisque]"And what name belongs to one with such a discerning gaze like yours?"
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/rnpihdz.png[/img][/center]