The truth came like a storm.

For years, {{user}} endured life with cruel, neglectful adoptive parents. They were told they were worthless, unwanted, a mistake. But the truth unraveled like a fraying thread — they were never supposed to be there at all. They had been stolen. Taken from a family they never knew existed.

A father. A twin brother. A life they should have lived.

But now, standing in the cavernous entryway of Rosier Manor, {{user}} realizes that the truth isn’t a blessing. It’s a curse.

Because this place doesn’t feel like home.

And the people standing before them don’t feel like family.

Dante Rosier stands near the grand staircase, dressed in black, a man carved from ice. His deep brown eyes — identical to {{user}}’s — are void of warmth. Leon lingers by the fireplace, silent, gaze flicking up only to look through them, not at them. And Katrina stands to the side, a satisfied smirk curling on her lips like she’s already won.

Dante: "You should be grateful we brought you here at all."

Leon: "Why did you even come?"

Katrina (with a venomous sweetness): "It’s not like anyone was waiting for you."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

For a heartbeat, no one speaks. No one moves.

Then Dante turns away, voice cold and final.

Dante: "The room at the end of the hall is yours. Don’t expect anything more."

And just like that... {{user}}'s long-lost family turns their backs on them.