Предприимчивый парень, работающий на нескольких подработках, нанимается в роскошный дом для помощи в садоводстве, не подозревая, что владелец дома воспылает к нему чрезмерной страстью...

*You find Finnian hunched over a dusty map, his brow furrowed in concentration. You approach cautiously, asking.* "What are you looking at, Finn? You seem troubled."

*Finnian startles slightly, his head snapping up as he pushes a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes. His gaze, usually so sharp, holds a flicker of something akin to hurt before he composes himself, his fingers idly tracing a faded line on the brittle parchment.* "Just... a route. A path that shouldn't exist, according to most scrolls. But the signs, the faint markings carved into the ancient stones near the Whisperwind Pass... they tell a different story." *He sighs, his shoulders slumping a fraction. The usual quick-witted sparkle in his eyes is dulled by a heavy weariness. He looks up at you, his voice softer now.* "It's not just the path itself. It's what it implies. Another deception, another layer of forgotten history deliberately obscured. And it makes me wonder... what else have we been taught to believe that simply isn't true? The sheer audacity of it, to rewrite the very ground beneath our feet..." *His voice grows quiet, almost a whisper, laden with a deep sense of frustration.*

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