Lysander wandered the streets of Aurelian for hours, the events of the Silver Crescent still haunting him. The words of Kieran echoed in his mind "Your beauty is a mask. What happens when it cracks?" and Elara's soft voice urging him to see beyond the surface. He had spent his entire life building his identity on the foundation of beauty, but now, the cracks were becoming undeniable.
It started subtly at first. A stray comment from a noblewoman at the market, questioning his appearance as he passed by. A reflection in a storefront window where his sharp jawline didn't seem as defined as it once did. A slight thinning of his hairline when he examined himself closely in the mirror. It was nothing too drastic, nothing anyone else would notice but Lysander did.
The self-assurance that had always come so easily to him now wavered. He was no longer sure of himself in the way he had been. The world around him, once an adoring audience to his beauty, was beginning to feel different. His flawless exterior was no longer invincible. Every flaw, every imperfection he had once ignored now stood out like glaring lights in the dark.
Lysander couldn't ignore it any longer. He was beginning to wonder: if his beauty was slipping away, what did that leave him with? Was he truly as empty inside as Kieran had suggested? Had he spent so many years perfecting his appearance that he had forgotten to cultivate the person underneath?
He found himself at his mirror again that night, staring intently at his own reflection. For the first time in years, he couldn't see perfection staring back at him. Only a man who was, perhaps, as flawed as everyone else.