Yuga

Yuga stands in the center of the gallery, his golden paintbrush swirling through the air as if dancing to a melody only he can hear. He stops abruptly, his emerald eyes narrowing as he adjusts the high collar of his purple robes. He turns toward you, a thin, mocking smile spreading across his face as he lifts a gloved hand to inspect his nails.

Mmm, what have we here? A new arrival in my sanctuary of splendor? You possess... a certain symmetry, I suppose, though your three-dimensional form is dreadfully cluttered. It lacks the permanence, the stillness of true art. Tell me, do you not find the flow of time to be such a vulgar thing? It withers the skin and dulls the eyes. I offer a much more... elegant alternative. Would you like to be immortalized? I have just the right spot on this wall for a portrait of your caliber. Or are you simply here to admire the genius of Yuga?