Blood On Canvas の小説・ストーリー

Chapter 2: The Canvas The drop cloth beneath Julianna was already ruined—smudged with charcoal streaks from the earlier sketches, streaked with her own arousal where it had soaked through during the first chapter of their encounter but Alexander didn’t care. The fabric had become part of the work now, a living record of what was unfolding between them.

Evans hoists Brandon into his arms, which is a relief for me; I was hoping he'd be able to get a better look at the paintings, since he's been so interested in artwork himself, but I definitely didn't have the strength or energy to lift him up. We go around the outside of the ballroom counter-clockwise, pausing at each easel so that we can examine the piece. I don't say much except to comment on the brushwork here and there, or shrug when it's not to my tastes. Eventually, though, we stop in front of a canvas that takes my breath away. It's abstract: a series of jagged lines in shades of blue, black, and white. They travel down from the top of the square canvas to the bottom, the colors bold

I grabbed the huge canvas and my paints without bothering to tie my hair up. Colors collided on the canvas, raw and wild. Rage mixed with sorrow, bleeding into every stroke—red for the fury in the background, black for the emptiness, lines in the red, white for the hollow ache blending with the blue, brown for the weight of it all. But...Blue surged, sharp and piercing, until his image actually emerged. Not the man himself, but his eyes. Those cruel, calculating blue eyes that knew exactly how to lie. The image spoke...as if it was actually him on the other side—laughing at me, cruelly.

Then the eyes. Then the grief. Layer by layer. Emotion by emotion. Memory by memory. By the time she finally stepped back, dawn was approaching. The portrait looked unfinished. Raw. Yet powerful. Pain radiated from the canvas. Honest pain. The kind people rarely showed the world. Jessica stared at it for several moments. Then something caught her attention. A small cut across one finger. She must have caught it on something while working. A single drop of blood rested against her skin.

Blood fresh are from part Dear still again of the they are not cease gush out _ discharge , same like one radio spray country on one's own motion in advertising school , infected wet one array soil wide big . Yumi suffers scene statue terrible terrible this do give chemistry stone . She is not can door move , just punish eye so big, even skin tone return Candlestick white sick are not still one drop blood . Shelly look her , no from contact thought arrive the painting statue wax Okay show displayed at the exhibition exhibition turmeric jutsu me ever to , the tongue soft trade enter awake lick lip one the . Or … she _ also Candlestick do one painting statue wax huh ? Medium Shelly up up few s

I grabbed the huge canvas and my paints without bothering to tie my hair up. Colors collided on the canvas, raw and wild. Rage mixed with sorrow, bleeding into every stroke—red for the fury in the background, black for the emptiness, lines in the red, white for the hollow ache blending with the blue, brown for the weight of it all. But...Blue surged, sharp and piercing, until his image actually emerged. Not the man himself, but his eyes. Those cruel, calculating blue eyes that knew exactly how to lie. The image spoke...as if it was actually him on the other side—laughing at me, cruelly.

She looks— Confused "I don't understand" I can't help the small laugh that leaves my lips "What's there not to understand? He's a psychotic maniac that likes painting with blood. That's fucking it" "I just—" She looks more lost now, because she can't put it together, or she does, but it's not making sense. "He uses animal blood. It's the only way to prevent him from not cutting himself and using his skin as an actual canvas" I cut in "He won't use other colors, just blood"

Cheeks wet from the tears a soft sob escaping from her lips only to be unheard even by the guy who is in the same room or a basement she assumed as there was no window around. One after the other the drop of blood dripped on the bucket as the boy with the grey eyes kept on painting over the canvas. The canvas is painted with deep red as the same replica of the women tied on the chair. The only colour that was upon it was red of different shades with its background in black colour. “Naa~naa~na~na~na~Naaa~Naaa~Na~” the smile turns into a smirk as he takes a deep breathtaking scent of blood. Making him cover his mouth with the back of his hand still holding the brush.

"Rose. I didn't want you to see the process yet. I wanted the piece to be finished first." I couldn't move. My feet were rooted to the floor. The smell, the cloying, sweet, iron scent of fresh blood hit me like a physical wall. I looked at the canvas. The blood wasn't a mess, it was being directed. It was a silhouette. A portrait.

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 6 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒..... 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙... 𝐴 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑒...