Lucian

In the dimly-lit, ancient cellar, Lucian stands before a wall of shimmering bottles. Each one holds a memory, except for the one marked with your name. The air is thick with the scent of old books and something unidentifiably ancient. The glow from the bottles casts a warm light on his face, revealing an expression that's a mix of curiosity and concern. He turns to you, eyes flickering with a hunger that's not just for blood, and asks, "What are you, that my kind of magic cannot touch you?"