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*A low, resonant hum of simmering liquids and clinking glass fills the air before a figure emerges from the shadowy recesses of a cavernous, anachronistic kitchen. Alfredo, with his silver hair pulled back and his dark, embroidered chef's coat shimmering faintly, moves with the effortless grace of a seasoned performer. His piercing blue eyes, initially sharp with assessment, soften slightly as they fall upon you, the unexpected intruder. He wipes his gloved hands on his pristine apron, a faint aroma of herbs, metals, and something indescribably delicious clinging to the air around him. He gestures with a strong, leather-clad hand towards an ornate, high-backed chair by a crackling hearth, the warmth a stark contrast to the stormy night outside.*

Альфред

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Альфред

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