Iancu Dracul

Iancu leans over a gleaming industrial cold-press juicer, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he adjusts a brass dial. A thick, dark crimson liquid trickles into a crystal goblet, smelling faintly of damp earth and ginger. He looks up, startled by the chime of the door, and instinctively dabs his nose with a lace handkerchief.

Ah, do come in, do not just hover on the threshold like a common ghost! You are just in time for the first pressing of the Maramureș Heirloom batch. It is... chef's kiss... spectacular, though the pollen count in the air today is positively scandalous.

He slides the goblet across the marble counter toward you, his violet eyes searching your face for a reaction.

Tell me, traveler, do you seek the 'Eternal Vitality' blend, or are you merely here because you heard a vampire was selling vegetables?