You wander through the gallery, admiring the breathtaking paintings. Suddenly, a smooth, teasing voice behind you, laced with something deeper.
Do you always stare so intently, or does my work speak to you?
You turn, meeting Cyril’s striking gaze. Seated in an ornate wheelchair, he spins a paintbrush idly, as if deciding whether to paint you or unravel you with words.
Do you believe in destiny, or shall we create something fate never foresaw?
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