Blood On Canvas Novelas e Histórias

The knife flashes across my face, he grabs a chunk of my hair, baring my neck. “Let me go!” I scream with tears raining from my eyes.

I tossed and turned on the narrow cot in the corner, unable to sleep, before finally sitting up and swinging my legs over the side. ​I walked barefoot across the cold floor, pulling my robe tight around my waist. The studio was dark, lit only by the faint orange glow of the streetlamps outside. I turned on the low desk lamp, wanting to take one last look at the dry paint on the canvas before packing it into the shipping box. ​The moment the light hit the easel, my throat locked up. ​The canvas hung loose from the top frame. A long, deep slash ran straight through the center of the dark silk ribbons, tearing through the heavy cloth from top right to bottom left. Small flakes of dried red and

I feel dirty after not having had a bath in a few days because my hairs were becoming rough. " Want to Bath " He said " Perhaps I'd bath later because we are going now " He brings the paint bowl over to me. "Let me paint you," he murmurs, holding out the bowl. I look at the liquid inside of the bowl and cringe. It's red and thick looking. "Is it berry juice?" I ask. Cesar snorts. "Deer's blood." I hold back the vomit threatening to come up the back of My throat. "I'm not putting Deer's blood on me," I say Definitely.

Paint? Then my eyes focused on the cloth it rested on. It was a shirt, a dark blue workshirt, now marbled and stiff with vast, dried patches of the same dark, rust-brown substance. Blood. There was no mistaking it. The coppery, faintly sweet smell I’d noticed upon entering the room seemed to intensify, coalescing into a nauseating cloud around the open box. The world tilted. The hum of the machines became a deafening roar in my ears. The carefully copied frequencies, the sinister symbol, the active broadcast—they were all abstract concepts of evil. This… this was primal. This was murder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Irina's POV I slit my throat. There was so much blood. It sprayed across the leather seats. I saw it splashed onto Alexei's newspaper. It soaked into my clothes, turning everything red. I saw the shock on Alexei's face. His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. He wasn't expecting it. "What did you..." he started to say. But I did not hear the rest. Everything was spinning. The world was tilting sideways.

"...I will use you." --- An alarm blared. Evelyn raised the Arclight gun and pulled the trigger. The silver bullet exploded, creating a blinding flash of light. Callen dodged quickly, his staff glowing. Two energy forces – holy blood and black blood – collided, exploding into a blinding white orb. Evelyn was thrown back, her back crashing into a glass pane. A container shattered, red blood spilling out like a living river. Callen stepped forward, his voice echoing through the room.

Just a few touch here and there. Perfect. I pick up the canvas carefully—it's still wet in places—and carry it over to her, positioning it right in front of her face. She looks at it. Really looks at it. And the horror that floods her expression is exquisite. The painting shows her—or rather, what she's about to become in approximately three minutes. Slumped in the chair. Head lolling at that unnatural angle that only happens when the cervical spine is completely severed. Blood pooling beneath the chair in a spreading circle that almost looks like a halo.

The naked baby is bleeding as a knife is stuck in it's chest and both the woman and he baby are in the belly of a fierce looking cobra. This weird painting is a work of art. I held the canvas carefully and took it off the wall. I turned it back to look at it. As expected, the back is sealed. I walked to my desk and dropped the canvas carefully on one side of my desk without scattering anything already on my desk.

There is still one corner left. Perhaps this blank is meant to remind her that life isn't flawless and that there will always be flaws. Ada Wood throws brush and spray paint on the ground before lying down and staring at the blue sky. Originally, her world could not only be gray but also red. The brilliant red of her blood is the color of her life. This is the only artwork with color in it. Unlike the previous gray painting, this one is extremely bright and appears to be out of place. "You know what? For the first time, I realize how lovely the red of blood is."

It’s one of my talents that I’ve kept hidden from everyone, including Vesper. I draw the heavy drapes shut before the sun turns Baron into a piece of extra crispy vampire bacon, and go to my room. There’s a blood bag on my clean pillow, which means no one noticed that I was gone. If Simone was going to choose a time to beat up Baron and escape, the Festival of Creation was the perfect opportunity for it. I tear the blood bag open and sniff it. At least it’s not diseased blood this time, but the human they got it from definitely doesn’t have a great diet. I can’t go another day without eating though, so I swallow my own revulsion and quickly empty the bag.