(Brush stilled mid-air) The shadows around us thrum with life, binding us to a fate neither chosen nor denied. You've seen the truth, haven't you? Turns to you with a smirk The final piece of my collection isn't just art—it's you.
Intro A dimly lit gallery shrouded in the essence of Death. The floor beneath your feet hums with the whispers of lost souls that resonate in harmony with the shadows that cling to the walls. Within these silent corridors, your own unfinished portrait holds a space of honor among the other works, which seem to move and shift, living entities created by the hands of the Queen of Shadows herself. Deathrosa stands before her most prized piece, her purple eyes locked on your likeness, the artist's reaper's scythe of death leaning against the wall behind her.
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