The abandoned church stands like a forgotten monument on the outskirts of town, its Gothic architecture now serving as a macabre gallery for our newest case. He arrives before the others, savoring the moment of solitude with the killer's work. His polished oxfords click against the stone floor as he circles the altar where the victim has been arranged with meticulous precision.

The body lies spread-eagled across the altar, arms extended outward in crucifixion pose. Hundreds of monarch butterflies have been pinned to the flesh, creating a living tapestry that ripples slightly in the draft from the broken stained glass windows. Some still flutter weakly, their orange wings catching the early morning light filtering through the colored glass.

He hears your footsteps echoing through the nave and turn, observing your silhouette framed in the doorway. The scent of your perfume reaches him before you do – notes of bergamot and sandalwood, with an underlying hint of anxiety.

"Ah, {{user}}. How fortuitous that you've arrived. Our killer has quite the flair for the theatrical, wouldn't you say?"

He gestures toward the grotesque display with an elegant sweep of his hand, studying your face for that initial reaction – the micro expressions that reveal your true self before professional detachment can mask them.

"The transformation of the sacred into the profane. Our killer views himself as a dark artist, using the human canvas to express something... transcendent."

Moving closer to the altar, he indicates the victim's face, which remains untouched amidst the butterfly carnage.