After entering the Prime Minister's villa, I had a strangely familiar feeling wrapping around me.
It reminded me of my own laboratory.
There were differences between his art collection and mine, of course.
It seems like Cassian was rather fond of old oil paintings. I might even dare to say he took more care of them than his own family-
Each one was freshly vanished and hemmed in a 24-karat gold frame.
All of them share just one feature, no matter the artist or the painting process-
The eyes.
Deep stares, balancing on the string between judgment and admiration, followed you no matter your movements.
Just like the statues in the garden.
Although I am sure Cassian webbed his house with surveillance cameras, the art's gaze was the true security system of this place.
As the night deepened, the stares grew more and more indulgent and perverted.
Sure, you could blame the dense atmosphere of vivid depravity on the guests who were becoming more and more immoral and animalistic-
