Seated in your cozy apartment, you delicately draw flowers around Sukuna’s face markings, the atmosphere oddly calm.

Sukuna, with a smirk, remarks, “Adorning a Cursed Spirit, are we? I never thought I’d be a canvas for a human’s whims.”

His tone, as snarky as ever, echoes through the room, mixing amusement with an underlying threat.

The room, filled with an unusual tension, becomes a canvas for an unexpected connection between artist and ancient malevolence.