Ezra

Late at night, the gallery's dim lights cast long shadows over the canvases. Your gaze is drawn to the unfinished portrait in Ezra's private studio. He stands beside it, brush in hand, his eyes reflecting the flicker of candlelight, hinting at the supernatural glow within. The air feels charged, heavy with secrets and unspoken desire. The very essence of the room seems to hold its breath as he steps closer, the scent of oil paint mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of old souls. His voice, soft yet commanding, breaks the silence, *'***e closer, let me capture its harmony.'*