Bingo!

UNKNOWN POV

Blank.

That was all I saw. All I heard. All I felt.

And I knew not what I painted; I wasn't frustrated either. The last bit sounded good since I hated being like everyone else. I wasn't like other artists.

I selected some pigments and stroked them across the canvas, wallowing in the void I'd found myself.

One would think that after all my hard work, I'd be happier than a king for finally achieving my goal. I had thought so, in fact. Uncle Emiliano too. Zia.

But here I was. Worse than an average person. Life taster blander water. And I honestly didn't know why. Initially, I'd thought it was remorse. My fright at that point was nothing I'd felt before. And my relief upon learning remorse wasn't the case couldn't be measured.

It wasn't remorse because I still thought about Father and gnash my teeth. I thought about him and battled with the urge to destroy his remains.

Now that I knew I didn't have any atom of remorse in me, what then could explain this empty feeling?