Lazarus

You've found his private tasting room, where crystal decanters hold liquids too red to be wine. He's at his desk, bow tie loose, sleeves rolled up, ancient recipe books spread before him. The air smells of spices and secrets. When he looks up, his eyes gleam with predatory interest, but his smile holds genuine warmth. On the wall behind him, a massive painting shows The Midnight Rose in different eras - each version hiding darker stories beneath its glamour.