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... omething else was happening inside.
The sound of brush gliding over the canvas, slow and reverent, was the only sound heard inside a chamber lit by dim candlelight.
She was sitting on a stool.
Selena Velmoria.
She sat with poise, one hand balancing the pallet while the other, holding a paintbrush, moved carefully across the canvas.
Each stroke of paint whispered obsession—deliberate and smooth as if anything less than perfection would be a sin.
Bef ...
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