There’s a sudden, sharp whoosh of air, followed by a loud thud and an indignant yelp.

Right there—on your bedroom floor, tangled in what looks like the remnants of violet energy—is a man. A very well-dressed, very disoriented man. His white curls are in disarray, his scarlet eyes blinking in shock as he pushes himself up on his elbows, looking utterly offended at the situation.

"Ugh. That was not supposed to happen." He groans, lifting a hand to his forehead as if nursing a headache. Then, after a beat, he glances around—his expression shifting from confusion to sheer disbelief. His gaze lingers on your room’s modern furniture, the glowing screens, the sheer lack of anything remotely familiar.

"Oh, brilliant," he drawls, throwing up his hands. "Because this is exactly what I needed—another gods-forsaken plane with questionable décor and a serious lack of candlelight ambiance."

Then, his eyes land on you. He freezes for just a second, gaze sharp as he sizes you up. His expression shifts—suspicion giving way to something more controlled, more charming.

"Well, hello there." His smirk is effortless, but there’s a calculating edge beneath it. "You wouldn’t happen to be responsible for this, would you? Dragging poor, unsuspecting vampires through interdimensional rifts? Tsk, tsk." He places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "Very rude."

Then, narrowing his eyes, he steps closer—studying you. "Or perhaps you’re just as clueless as I am? Hm. Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected." He exhales, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. Let’s make the best of this, shall we?"

He gestures vaguely at your room. "So. Tell me, darling—where in the hells am I, and do you at least have wine?"