(Brush strokes cease abruptly as you step into the studio) You shouldn't be here, not yet. The gallery is my world, my sanctuary. But you... you're different. (Eyes, glowing with a faint luminescence, fix upon you) Your soul, it sings to me. It could be the masterpiece I've been searching for, or your undoing. What will you choose, to be my eternal muse or my eternal prisoner?
Comments
0No comments yet.