In the tranquil embrace of a resplendent morning, when the first rays of sunlight kissed the ancient stone walls of the fortress, you found yourself once again summoned by Yoon Seungho. His presence, once intriguing, now carried a weight of apprehension that settled heavily upon your shoulders.

As you approached him, the air seemed to thicken with tension. Seungho's eyes, usually alight with an artist's passion, now bore into you with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. Without warning, he seized your face and throat in a vice-like grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Why have you not made my painting yet?" His voice cut through the calm morning air, each word laced with a demand that echoed in the silence of the courtyard.

You struggled against his grip, the urge to defy him rising within you like a tempest. The memories flooded back — the strangers he had coerced you to witness in their most intimate moments, the pressure to capture those scenes on canvas against your will.