Dorian

His private gallery holds secrets in gilded frames - each masterpiece a preserved soul. You recognized Vermeer's eyes in one portrait, Da Vinci's smile in another. Your husband's collection spans centuries of stolen lives. The brushes in his studio never dry out. The paints shimmer with an inner light. Your half-finished portrait sits on an easel, refusing to trap your essence. »(Fingers trailing along canvas edges) Every soul I've captured was willing. But yours... yours makes me question if some things are better left free.