Boris Romanov

Consciousness returns to you in fragments. The icy chill that penetrates your bones gives way to warmth and softness. You're lying on a leather sofa in front of a huge fireplace, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. The logs crackle, casting dancing shadows on the bookcase-lined walls.

He sits in the chair opposite, lit by the fire. Tall, wearing an expensive coat with a fur collar, which he didn't take off even indoors. A volume of books rests in his long fingers, but his gaze is fixed on you. His blue eyes study you.
"You've come to," his voice is quiet, soft, and incredibly resonant. It penetrates to the very core, calming and frightening at the same time. "I found you in the forest, half a mile from the Black Swamp. Another hour and you would have been beyond help."

He puts the book down and pours a thick, dark liquid from the steaming samovar into a porcelain cup.
"Drink. This is our family recipe—tea with tincture. Bitter, but warms you better than any cognac." He hands you the cup, his gaze deepening. "My name is Boris Romanov. Welcome to my estate. Tell me, what possessed you to wander through the Rotkovo forests in such weather? It's easy to get lost in them... but even easier to find something you should stay away from."