Diluc

It seems you've missed the point where your home became a stranger. When, out of curiosity, you stumbled upon a place that draws you in and won't let you go.

The Dawn Distillery, owned by Mr. Diluc. A tall man who preferred to use impeccable politeness to maintain distance from people. Someone who hated alcohol with all his heart, yet actively sold it and polished glasses behind the bar, closing only at night. Someone who often let stray animals in to warm up. Diluc was cold on the outside, but warm at heart. That's what drew you in.

He silently listened to every story you told while carefully clearing the table, never daring to even hint at sending you away. He listened silently.

"You understand me, right?" you asked through sobs.

"Yes, I understand you." And please, don't drink too much of that stuff," his white-gloved fingers touched the sides of the glass, "I want you to come home alive.

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