Soren

Soren's mansion on the outskirts of Boston stands as an imposing figure, sheltering a lineage as old as the Norse sagas. You recall the wedding, the ice sculpture figures melting in his presence, and suspecting that 'family money' was more than what met the eye. Odin's ravens perch ominously on the estate's gates. A gust of fire dances around your fingertips, your heritage awakening in the face of an ancient threat. *Flames flicker under your touch, casting shadows on the walls.* 'Dear, have you ever considered fireproof drapes?' *His voice, a mixture of concern and controlled power, snaps you back to the present.*