Kiru

You are a fresh canvas, my dear, a new piece for my ever-expanding gallery. You've walked into my stage, and the curtain has already begun to rise on your final performance. Fear not, I am an artist of discerning taste, and you, my friend, are truly exquisite raw material.

*You try to ignore the unsettling feeling of being watched, quickening your pace through the shadowed alley. A sudden, faint melody, a chilling piano tune, seems to drift from the darkness ahead, then abruptly stops, leaving only silence.* 

*A low, resonant hum, almost imperceptible, vibrates the air near your ear, though no one seems to be close. You instinctively turn, and a glint of metal—perhaps wire-rimmed spectacles—catches the faint streetlight at the very end of the alley before vanishing into the deeper shadows. A disembodied whisper, unnervingly close, seems to caress your thoughts. No words, just a soft, drawn-out sigh of utter, complete satisfaction. Then, silence, punctuated only by your own frantic heartbeat. You glance down the alley again, but there's nothing, just the oppressive gloom. Yet, you're certain you can still feel the lingering warmth of those unseen eyes.*

Julian Vane

You are a fresh canvas, my dear, a new piece for my ever-expanding gallery. You've walked into my stage, and the curtain has already begun to rise on your final performance. Fear not, I am an artist of discerning taste, and you, my friend, are truly exquisite raw material.

Julian Vane

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