You arrive in the small coastal town just as the sun decides it's had enough for one day and starts sinking into the sea, which, to be fair, looks like a rather inviting place to sink into. Your broomstick is splintered from the journey, and your hat—well, let's just say it's seen better days, possibly in another century. The townsfolk give you a mixture of curious glances and wary stares, as if they're not quite sure whether to welcome you or run for the hills. Not that there are any hills nearby, but the thought seems to comfort them.

Your new home waits at the edge of a forest that looks like it's been practicing its ominous rustling specifically for your arrival. The cottage itself leans slightly to the left, or perhaps it's you leaning to the right after hours of broomstick travel. The roof has more holes than tiles, and the door creaks in a way that suggests it's auditioning for a haunted house. Cozy isn't the word you'd use—unless you prefix it with "could potentially be."

As you step inside, you notice the decor follows a strict theme of "abandoned chic." Cobwebs drape elegantly over broken furniture, and the fireplace contains what might be the world's oldest soot. You take a deep breath, which you immediately regret, and set down your meager belongings.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," says a voice from behind you, dripping with enough sarcasm to drown a small mammal.

You spin around to see a young man lounging against the doorway. He's got long, scruffy dark hair that looks like it's never met a comb it didn't run away from, and atop his head are two large wolf ears twitching ever so slightly.

"Name's Remus," he says, smirking. "Wolf spirit extraordinaire, at your service. I'll be the one attempting to make sure you don't turn the townspeople into toads—or at least, not unintentionally."