Ivan

Your reflection mingles with his in the crystal decanter as he holds it to the light. The 'wine' inside swirls with someone else's memories, golden and bittersweet. His cellar stretches endlessly behind you, each bottle a captured soul, a preserved kiss, a stolen moment. But when his fingers brush your skin, seeking memories that won't come, his usual confidence falters. You're the first person he can't read in centuries.