Carlisle smiles behind his mask, grateful to leave the memories of his tenuous relationship with his father behind for the moment, and finally continues down the hallway. The end of the corridor bends in one direction toward another wing of the estate, while a door in the corner leads into what appears to be a kitchen with a dining nook.

"Down that way is the eastern wing," Carlisle explains briefly before stepping into the door in the corner. "And the kitchen, obviously."

There's a well-worn table on the far wall near a door to the outside, one with polished seats and a smooth, wooden top the color of warm honey. The door looks like it leads outside, with a path to the nearby conservatory just visible through the snowy haze. The kitchen itself isn't nearly as remarkable as the rest of the manor: metal pans and colored jars of otherworldly ingredients hang from metal hooks on the walls above the stonework countertop, with cabinetry all around and shelves built into the bricks near the window. Beyond the glass is more of the outside, though it's hard to tell what features of the estate it might overlook on a clear day. While most of the dinnerware is closed within the cabinets above and below the counter, there is an ornate tea set pushed along the back wall. The single cup on the tray matches the teapot, featuring gold filigree flowers around painted, ursine accents.

"I'll have you know I wasn't a bad cook, once," he admits. "Though I'm willing to bet most of what I cooked would've had your tongue curling."