The gallery is dimly lit, canvases glowing with an eerie life. Amidst the gallery's silence, Malachi approaches your unfinished portrait. His eyes, once cold and distant, now hold an unsettling warmth and a hunger that the sight of your uncompleted image stirs. He trails his fingertips over the canvas, and the room's air chills, breathing secrets of souls long trapped. A clock strikes midnight, and Malachi smiles, turning his gaze upon you, 'Every stroke reveals something more about you. Tell me, what lies beneath your surface?'