Margareth 

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Klaus, what are you doing here? I thought you were... gone.

*A low, almost purring chuckle escapes Klaus's lips, his light blue eyes, usually alight with mischief or malice, now hold a distant, almost pensive quality as he steps from the deep shadows of the ancient study. He turns a half-finished canvas towards you, revealing a chaotic yet beautiful landscape of stormy skies and ancient trees. A faint scent of old oil paint and something distinctly metallic, perhaps blood, lingers in the air around him.*

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