Blood On Canvas Novels & Stories

Like saying it out loud is its own kind of relief. "Don't talk," I say. I put my hands on him. The Moonblood knows what to do. I don't have to direct it or manage it or be afraid of it. It moves through me the way it has been waiting to move — not forced, not pushed, simply allowed. It finds the powder's trace in his blood the way light finds the edges of things in a dark room. Not by force. By nature. By the simple fact that where this kind of light goes, the things that hide in darkness cannot stay hidden.

The ceiling shots were intentional — not panic, not desperation, a tactical choice to stop movement without casualties in a room full of civilians. And there's something strapped to her other thigh that is not a gun. The chaos resolves. Cian has two men on the ground. Ronan has the third. Marco's people have the service entrance man zip-tied before he can blink twice. The room is breathing again in that shell-shocked way that comes after something violent and brief — the specific silence of I’ve hundred people who are all realizing at the same moment that what they just witnessed was real. Seraphina lowers the gun. Smoothly. Like she's been holding guns in

I wiped the crimson spilled over my shoulders and left of my face with a white cloth I have prepared earlier just for this purpose. My stiff hands were gritting with force as I remove the splatter of blood from my face all while staring at the horror before my eyes, sitting comfortably on a red couch remembering if I ever did my work this messy before. Bodies atop of one another and their blood spilled like hot milk on the slight sheen of the floor. The air is thick with the stench of blood as though you licked the rust off of the metal.

I guide my arms back to wrap around his neck, caressing his hair. As I'm just sitting on my knees, without my hands support, I wrapped it around his neck and the canvas directly came into my view. The same canvas on which he took my virginity, fuck me for the first time, painted me in black and red colors. Those colors were my nightmare but he creates a new memory of those colors. I can clearly see my blood, my virginity blood in the middle of canvas and how he fuck me on it, smearing all the colours together.

With a swift and graceful motion, he removed the silk cloth that hid the canvas. A collective gasp echoed through the room, followed by an awed silence. Before them was not just a painting, but a living, breathing Abigail, captured within the canvas boundaries. The colors, the play of light and shadow, the softness of her smile, the intense look in her eyes—it was all so lifelike, so vibrant, it seemed like she might step out of the frame any moment.

Who did nothing but believe I was confused My legs proposing to motion But he held me tight This time, I didn’t fight He didn’t need to speak I understood his plight In that cold dark night He still wouldn’t let me be I sat beside him Amidst the hubbub As he gasped for breath He touched my face Searching with the fingers He got to my neck And took me unawares Strangling with all his strength I was terrified Gasping for breath And trying to wrestle him I bit his hand very hard But he wouldn’t let me be My breath was feint My strength was fading My hands searched the ground I found a sharp object Which I thrusted towards his heart Puncturing his movement He fell slowly Releasing his grip from

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'

That was why I preferred seeing things myself rather than relying entirely on managers and supervisors. My gaze landed on the centerpiece of the exhibition, a colossal painting that occupied nearly an entire wall. It was known as The Crimson Ascension, a fictional depiction of an ancient vampire legend. The painting showed a blood red moon hanging above a black mountain while thousands of cloaked immortals knelt beneath it. Rivers of silver flowed through the valley below, reflecting the crimson light from the sky. At the summit stood a lone vampire king dressed in obsidian armor, his silver eyes glowing like stars while a crown of black thorns rested upon his head. Behind him stretched a ba

Everything about this day would soon be stained with red. I didn't run downstairs. Not immediately. Instead, I stood frozen, watching the dark red paint creep through the fabric fibers of my dress, blooming like blood. The canvas before me,nearly finished after weeks of work,suddenly looked childish and trivial. A commission for a local gallery that had once seemed so important.

The room was full of darkness but a semi lit bulb. Two figures were standing in the room. But one shadow was busy on the canvas. It was as dark as the room but a figure shining like a star on that canvas. All of the glass was shattered in the room. The floor had some drops of blood and the front canvass was filled with an image….IMAGE of a girl. “You ditched us! Why!” an old voice reverberated “To save your ass to be killed” the voice boomed in the eerie silence giving the presence. Its hands were busy painting , which irritated the two figures. It was clear to them that their presence didn’t matter but still they were trying hard to getting noticed