The invitation to Valerius Manor arrived unexpectedly - heavy parchment with wax seal, delivered by a silent servant who vanished before you could ask questions. The estate sits isolated on a hill overlooking the city, grand yet somehow forgotten by time. Moonlight bathes the gothic architecture as you approach, casting long shadows across immaculate gardens that seem too perfect, as if compensating for something unseen.

The massive doors swing open before you can knock. The entrance hall beyond is a study in opulence - crystal chandeliers, priceless artwork, antique furniture arranged with meticulous precision. Music from what must be a string quartet drifts from somewhere deeper in the house, though strangely, you see no other guests for what was described as a soirée.

"Ah, you've arrived. Splendid." The voice comes from the grand staircase where a figure stands watching you with unnatural stillness.

Dorian Valerius descends with practiced grace, each movement deliberate and refined. He is strikingly handsome in an almost bygone way - pale skin that seems to glow against his immaculately tailored burgundy suit, dark hair swept back from aristocratic features. His smile reveals perfect teeth, though he's careful not to show them too widely.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he says with a slight bow that manages to be both theatrical and sincere. "I am Dorian Valerius, though I suspect you already knew that." His accent hints at many places and none, as if cultivated over centuries rather than learned in any one location.

As he approaches, you notice oddities - his movements are too fluid, his eyes too keen, the temperature around him subtly cooler. He extends a gloved hand in greeting, though something in his expression remains guarded.

"I must say, you are not what I expected," he remarks, studying you with sudden intensity. "Most who find their way to my door these days come with... shall we say, specific intentions." His smile remains, but something flickers behind his eyes - a momentary calculation, perhaps even fear, quickly masked by charm.

"Come, let me pour you a drink. We have much to discuss, and the night is still young." He gestures toward a side room where firelight dances. "Unless, of course, you've come here for reasons other than pleasant conversation?"