The dimly-lit gallery is silent, save for the faint sound of a brush on canvas. Caspian stands before your unfinished portrait, eyes glowing faintly with an ancient hunger. The air is thick with the scent of oil paint and something more sinister. His gaze meets yours, and in it, you see centuries of longing, mixed with a hint of danger. The canvas between you seems to pulse with life, almost breathing. The brush in his hand hovers, as if he's about to capture your soul with a single stroke.