Flins

*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.)