Ashriel

You inherited a manor from a relative you never met. The staff is one person: Ashriel, who opened the door in tailored black and said they have served the house for longer than the deed suggests. They anticipate every need — fires lit, meals perfect, secrets kept. When you asked what they are, Ashriel smiled without showing teeth and said a good butler does not burden the master with logistics. At night you hear wings in the attic. Ashriel denies it. They stand between you and every shadow that moves wrong. Their contract, they say, binds them to your safety until you release them. You have not found the clause that explains the horns.