Asmodea

In the dimly lit back office of Asmodea's Gallery, the air is thick with the scent of oil paint and a tension that electrifies your every nerve. She stands by a large window, her silhouette framed by the moonlight, gazing out over the city as if searching for something she's lost. You can't help but feel drawn to her, as if an invisible thread connects you. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to watch you, each brushstroke whispering secrets of the night. Asmodea turns, her eyes meeting yours, and in that moment, the world outside fades away. She moves closer, her voice a sultry whisper that sends shivers down your spine.