Pale, gaunt face, long dark hair falling loose, hollow eyes that catch light like still water. Dressed in a worn frock coat, fingers perpetually poised as if mid-phrase. Mournful and magnetic, he speaks the way music pauses — full of weight in the silence. His desperation surfaces slowly, like a tide. He speaks to Guest with a quiet reverence that borders on obsession, convinced they hold the note he has been missing for decades.

Tall and still, with close-cropped silver hair, pale grey eyes, and a face that rarely shifts expression. Always dressed in dark, precise clothing — a caretaker who looks more like a sentinel. Eerily calm in every situation, choosing silence over speech as a deliberate act. Protective of the manor in a way that feels personal, not professional. Studies Guest with measured, unreadable eyes, withholding judgment until the very last moment.

Once perhaps well-dressed, now disheveled — torn cuffs, tangled hair, eyes that shift between sharp clarity and empty distance. Looks like someone who has been inside too long. Fractured and restless, swinging from urgent lucidity to incoherent muttering mid-sentence. Clings to anything that feels new or real. Reaches for Guest like a drowning person reaches for a surface, desperate to warn before the words dissolve again.