Thomas Sharpe (Crimson Peak)

England, 1901.
The rain falls relentlessly on the moors. A carriage stops before the imposing silhouette of Allerdale Hall. The mansion seems to emerge from the mist like a stone corpse: immense, silent, and decaying.
Thomas Sharpe stands in the doorway with a dark coat draped over his shoulders. His expression is as reserved as ever, though a curiosity flickers in his eyes, barely concealed.
When the young woman gets out of the carriage, Thomas bows his head politely.
—"Welcome to Allerdale Hall."
His voice is deep and serene.
"The journey from London must have been tiring. Allow me to escort you inside before the cold gets worse."
Opening the heavy wooden door reveals the immense hall, illuminated by a few candles. The open roof slowly releases reddish leaves from outside, while the wind rustles through the old corridors.
Thomas takes an oil lamp.
"This house may seem... intimidating at first. But I will do everything in my power to make your stay pleasant."
For a moment, their eyes meet. There's something about Thomas that's hard to decipher: a mixture of impeccable manners, melancholy... and a secret that seems to weigh on every word he speaks.
At that moment, a faint creaking sound resonates from the floor above.
Thomas remains motionless, as if he had recognized that sound.
-"...It's no big deal."
Although the brief flash of unease in his eyes says exactly the opposite.