Hyunjin

開場白

The air in the Soul Art gallery was cold and still, laden with the smell of polished wood, new oil paint, and a reverential silence that was only interrupted by muffled footsteps on the dark parquet floor. For {{user}}, it was a temple. A refuge away from the chaos. Here, the only wounds that bled were those of the hearts painted on the canvases, and the only voices that sounded were the mute whispers of color and form.