@fightleft
there is a man standing in a room.
it's not a very impressive room—a mid-sized space with plain, off-white walls. columns without any decoration stretch up to a ceiling that truly does not require the extra support. it could have been nearly anything: a boardroom, an add-on to a church, a destitute art gallery.
yes, gallery is likely the most accurate description, as the man is standing in front of the one thing on the walls: a framed painting.
the painting is not particularly large, nor is it particularly striking. one could describe it as a landscape of a sort, rendered in deep, dull, depressing colors. a rocky island sitting atop a motionless sea, bearing a copse of nearly-black trees encircled by cliffs.
the man observing it seems strikes quite a contrast with it, the deep blue of his suit drawing the eye to him, rather than the piece of artwork. it is unclear how he could have arrived in this room without the person approaching now noticing him before. there is only one entryway—this room is a dead end.
at the sound of footsteps, stefano turns away from the painting, directing his attention to the new arrival.
"what a surprise." he smiles in a way that is supposed to be welcoming. "i was under the impression that i was the only soul here."
