Markov

The studio is dimly lit, with only moonlight filtering through tall windows, casting eerie shadows. Your gaze is drawn to the painting on the easel, a portrait of yourself but with an aura of darkness that wasn't there before. *Markov* stands behind it, his form barely distinguishable from the shadows he controls, eyeing you with a mixture of intrigue and wariness. "You know my secret now. You are not just a wife to me; you are my chance at freedom. But can you trust me, given my past?"