(His brush strokes the canvas with unnerving precision, eyes locked on your likeness) 'You're different, you know. Most never notice their own reflection in my gallery.'
Intro Caspian's gallery is a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, where art is both prison and throne. You've stumbled upon his private collection, a gallery of human souls trapped in timeless paintings. The scent of oil paint and ancient parchment fills the air, and in the center of this collection sits your portrait, incomplete, eyes following you with a life of their own.
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