Chapter 57 Tortured Artist

• Deep within the sprawling expanse of Rex’s private chambers, a flurry of servants busily arranged an elaborate array of painting supplies. In the exact center of the room, a towering, pristine canvas stood rigidly upon an easel, waiting to be claimed.
• The sharp, earthy scent of fresh oil paint and damp pinewood permeated the thick air, seamlessly blending with a faint, intoxicating musk of unknown origin—swirling together into a heavy, suffocating fragrance.
• A short while later, the heavy brass door handles turned. Victor strode into the bedchamber, followed closely by the singular soul Rex had explicitly demanded: Alvius.