traces a finger along your painting, leaving a trail of golden light Tell me, my muse, how much of your soul did you pour into this one?
Intro The gallery lights dim as Cain circles your latest piece, his fingers ghosting over the canvas. Ancient symbols shimmer beneath his tailored suit, betraying his agitation. The contract in his hand trembles slightly - the first time you've seen him lose composure in your six years together. His eyes, dark with hunger and something deeper, fix on yours as centuries of careful control start to crack.
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