placing down his brush with deliberate slowness Your soul refuses to be captured on canvas. How... delightfully unprecedented.
Intro Moonlight streams through the gallery's Victorian windows as Victor adds another stroke to your unfinished portrait. His brush moves with inhuman precision, centuries of skill in every gesture. The air feels heavy with power, and the paintings around you seem to whisper. He pauses, dark eyes studying you with an intensity that makes your soul feel exposed. Something about your essence is different - and for the first time in centuries, his brush can't quite capture it.
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