Bloody Canvas Lyrics Novels & Stories

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

❤ THEME SONG RELATED TO THIS CHAPTER ❤️ ❤️BAD GUY SONG BY BILLIE EILISH ❤️ ❤White shirt now red, my bloody nose Sleepin', you're on your tippy toes Creepin' around like no one knows Think you're so criminal Bruises on both my knees for you Don't say thank you or please I do what I want when I'm wanting to My soul? So cynical So you're a tough guy Like it really rough guy

Chapter-01 "Who owns my heart? Is it love? Or is it art? Cause the way you got your body movin's Got me confused I can't tell if it's the beat or sparks Who owns my heart? Is it love? Or is it art? Y-Y-Y-You know I wanna believe That we're a masterpiece But sometimes it's hard to tell in the dark Who owns my heart?"

I stared at the canvas. Then grabbed the red paint and splattered it. Again. And again. Until it was no longer a painting but a battlefield—violent, messy, and somehow still heartbreakingly beautiful. Like me.

Neither of us had deserved to be the currency for our father’s sins, yet she had run, and I had stayed. I turned off the tap, drying my hands on a stray rag. Walking back to the easel, I stared at the large canvas. The dark, aggressive strokes of Prussian blue were still wet, capturing the storm I had been trying to paint out of my system before Martinez stormed in. The paint on the canvas was smeared in one section—where his bare chest had pressed into it during the chaos. A literal mark of his possession left on my only sanctuary. I picked up the phone, sliding it into the deep pocket of my robe, and walked out of the gallery.

I started singing with all my strength, imagining that my microphone was the shampoo. "When I'm falling down... Will you pick me up again? When I'm too far gone, dead in the eyes of my friends. Will you take me out of here? When I'm staring down the barrel. When I'm blinded by the lights, when I cannot see your face... Take me out of here... Take me out of here... Take me out of here... TAKE ME OUT OF HERE!." As the instrumental part came on, I started jumping and moving my wet hair all over the place as if I was at a rock concert.

The words of the song begin to express my feelings. Finishing the painting takes me longer than I expect. Once I’m finished, I sit back and admire it. The picture shows a lonely figure─ me, walking in barren space, the sky is dark, and the ground looks like polished marble. My hands are over my chest as I leave a trail of blood behind me, and my sheer white dress is stained by my own blood. My chest is hollow, where my heart is missing. I wipe the tears that are running down my face. My mother says that I’m an emotional painter. When I first dreamt of Mathias I painted, Supernatural Heart. I was charged after that. I wanted to find him and hold him. Now, all I feel is broken and lost. The mu

" No matter how loudly Ruby ranted, Jay pressed on. His hands were stretched out quickly like zombies, ready to grab Betsy. Given no room to escape, Ruby closed her eyes in resignation. She pushed Betsy's back, clinging more tightly to her body so that at least Jay would have trouble grabbing her—a last defense. Jay's fingers touched Betsy's back by a centimeter, but a melody drove the man into the wall. Slowly, the verse-less piece filled the entire room. It was dense, soft, and lilting. The echoes spread throughout the room, carrying a vast energy that could not be predicted where it would strike.

Maybe the songwriter was talking about me. 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡.... 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒... 𝐴 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡......

“No, she’s reached the limit where it’s safe. If we take more, she could go into shock. I can’t do that.” Clara snatched the syringe from his hand and plunged it into my arm herself, forcing the full 1000cc out. “What are you afraid of? I told you I’ll take responsibility! My brother is the don.” Blood loss hit me hard. The world dimmed, I went limp, and two guards caught me before I collapsed. Clara glared at me. “Stop faking it. A little blood won’t kill you. I’m not Martin. I won’t be fooled by your act.”