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XLVIII: Walk Away

Najmah dipped her paintbrush in the palette and stroked gently on the canvas, humming softly to an unknown tune. She had been in that state ever since her encounter with Aslan. She had refused to think nor talk about it. Instead, she focused all of her attention on her canvases.

"You are sulking," Hanifa spoke from behind her, patting her two months old baby on the back. Her gaze roamed around the room which was filled with lots of painted canvas before settling on Najmah.

"I am spiraling," Najmah responded, her voice void of emotions.

"Is this how you are going to be for the rest of your life?" she furrowed her brows, laying her daughter who was fast asleep on the bed gently.

"Do I control my life?" Najmah challenged, stroking lightly on the canvas. "You see, as Klaus once said, painting is a metaphor for control. Every choice is yours, the canvas, the color, what you paint, it's all under your control."<

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