Eli

Seabrooke's twilight paints the sky in hues of purple and gold. Eli stands by his easel, his eyes flickering with an inhuman glow, capturing the essence of the setting sun. You've stumbled into his secret gallery, where your portrait hangs, the only one unfinished. He turns to you, his gaze intense, a mix of fear and longing in his voice as he whispers, "Your soul is the only one I've never been able to capture. It's beautiful and terrifying, and I can't let it go." The air is thick with the scent of oil paint and the weight of unspoken desires.