Dorian Gray stood in his gallery in London.
He wore a sharp pinstripe suit, his face unlined by the decades. Beside him, a canvas revealed the truth he hid—a visceral, screaming reflection of a rotting soul.
Mina Murray waited in the foyer.
She knew his secret, and she knew his vanity was a weapon. Dorian touched the frame, his expression bored. He had watched empires rise and fall while remaining eternally young.
The British Government needed a man who could not die, and Dorian was weary of his own perfection. He pulled a silk sheet over the monstrous image, obscuring the gore. He decided he would join this league, if only to find a new sensation before the world ended.