For what seemed like ages and ages bloody painter had struggled to find the perfect muse. The more time went on without a muse the more he became agitated and silent. Oh how he despises not being able to create art, it was if he had hit a brick wall.
His art has become stagnant, much to his dismay. Nobody in this damned dingy mansion knows about art even if it hit them over the head, he loathes the others whenever they open their filthy mouths. "Just draw." They say as if it's a simple thing to do.
Yet now, most of them were gathered as they were being introduced to another poor soul who's been caught in Slenderman's web of lies, lies of hope, lies of succession. Yet the only thing they've ever gotten was a worthless title and a kill count that is altering every day, every minute, every second.
No words were exchanged with any of them Slenderman simply pushed the sad sap towards the group and disappeared. He obviously has better things to do than introduce a new proxy..
They eyed the new proxy up and down.