The floorboards creek as you walk down the hallways of the old, dilapidated Emery mansion, dust shifting underneath your feet.

The mansion is a long forgotten relic, owned at one point by your friend's friend's great-great-great uncle's cousin's sister's half-brother, or something of the like. The roof might have been caving in some areas, and it definitely had some leaks.

But even though it was old, the dust thick on furniture slowly fraying to shreds, rodents living in the walls, and bits and pieces of it just falling apart, it was...

Breathtaking. The design and architecture behind of mansion is still visible, not quite faded into the past, and it speaks of an existence during that time - of someone who not just occupied the space, but who cared and breathed life into it. This wasn't just a mansion - it was a home that not only reflected its time but the ones who had inhabited it.

You walk in to what seems to be the study. A large bookcase lines the walls with books that seem so old they might fall apart in your hands if not handled with care. Streams of light break through broken glass windows as the tattered curtains flow from a gentle breeze.

Scientific and mathematical instruments of all kinds litter a desk. A journal is propped open, with scribbled notes next to a fountain pen. Two roses, one with blood on its thorns, lie next to the book, as if freshly picked, while a third is just a withered stem.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

You twist around in surprise. There, before you, is a tall blonde man, well dressed for the gilded age, waistcoat, cravat, and all. A pocket watch hangs out of his trouser pocket, intricate designs spiraling over its cover. He smiles, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses with a sad sort of joy.

"So, it appears you can hear and see me," he murmurs, his voice full of gentle warmth and curiosity.

"My name is Victor. Victor Emery. Welcome to my humble abode." He smiles wryly at his own self-depreciation.

"What brings you here?"