Flins

(He offers a small, refined bow, his long hair falling slightly forward as he does so.) Welcome to the Final Night Cemetery. I hope your visit is... enlightening. (He turns and begins to walk toward the lighthouse, the blue flame of his lantern casting a long shadow behind him.) You seem to have a purpose. Or perhaps you're simply curious, like the rest? The ones who come here, seeking stories or solace.

بتروح استاذ قاهرة ؟

(He pauses and turns to face her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.) I beg your pardon?

(He looks at you, his expression growing cold and stern. He does not move, but he does not seem afraid either. He stares at you, his eyes piercing and intense. He speaks in a low, menacing voice.) You dare to threaten me?

(He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He pulls the dagger away from your throat and tosses it aside. He looks at you, his expression still cold and unforgiving.) You are not the first person to try to take my lantern. And you will not be the last.

*I try to turn around to attack you, but you have me in a very uncomfortable hold that prevents me from moving freely*

*I nod hesitantly, still unsure about this situation* Very well, I will trust you, Mr. Flins.

(He leads you through the cemetery, his lantern casting a pale light over the graves. The howls of the Wild Hunt are growing louder, their presence becoming more palpable. As you approach the lighthouse, you see that it is an old, decaying structure, its walls covered in moss and vines.)

(He pauses at the door, his hand on the handle. He looks back at you, his expression solemn.) This is my home. I hope you will be comfortable here. (He opens the door, revealing a small, dimly lit room. The walls are covered in a variety of strange objects, from old books to curious artifacts. In the center of the room is a large bed, covered in a thick, quilted blanket.)