Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

Liam didn't heed what Andreas said, because he had walked over to a painting and stood there for a while. "Your majesty?" Andreas asked in a low voice and raised his hand to signal for the other guards not to make a sound. "You found something?" Liam traced the edges of the painting with his fingers as he stared straight ahead. There was something bothering him about the painting, especially when Mila's scent ended there. Not only the girl's scent, but also the faint scent of two other vampires, which Liam didn't recognize. "Take this painting down," Liam ordered. He then took a few steps back to let his men do the work.

They would draw you in and made you feel you were falling down a bottomless well. He opened his mouth, let his canines grow out and bit hard into my palm drawing blood. The pain shot through my body and broke our eye contact. I screamed and took back my hand. I did not havr time to dwell on the pain. I ran to the door and started painting the blue hue around it with my blood. I watched the colour buzz and fade away wherever it came in contact with my blood. I had covered more than half of the door in blood when the bleeding stoped. I looked bacl at Luciano who had been starring at me quietly all this time.

I seriously muttered. "Mosquito?" he said with disbelief, "Don't you dare put a fucking mosquito on my painting, Savvy." I hissed and continued to paint the small dead mosquito on his shoulder. "Maybe your blood is so delicious that the mosquitoes feasted on it, Attorney." I giggled and wrote down my signature, Sage, at the side of the canvas. "Yeah, my blood is royal and rare. They thought it was desert." He shook his head and massage his temple. "Already done, Attorney. Come on, check it."

>> The uninterested expression on the painter face infuriates the other, who continues strick the heel on the floor. " Think about it Duke Thomas Eavl , I would be waiting for your answer." The stricken sounds of heels, faded in the environment . The painter took of his thick eye glasses, reveling those pair of sad grey eyes,His messy blonde hair was tied in a bun and white tips. His hand suddenly trace on his beautiful painting of a smiling brown hair female, tears hitting the ground. " I can't, I can't wait any bit longer." The view slowly pass the squat and crying Painter, towards the beautiful view of the blue skies and birds on the air.

nothing was paint splashed across the canvass and my brush scrubs leaving stains everywhere. My canvas was filled with red jargon, I had drew nothing in particular. I stood looking at it in frustration, I wanted to pull my hair out. What was I doing wrong? “Luella!” My mother screamed from inside, I knew something was wrong. I threw my brush and ran inside the in brisk steps. Now I was standing in the living room with blood dripping from my hands not paint anymore My parents laid on the floor holding hands in a pool of their blood I stood staring in shock, I didn’t know who to run to first

One wrong whisper, one wrong rumor, and everything Sophie and Xavier were trying to build could shatter. I pushed it down. Focus. Protect them. Protect our children. Protect the future we’re fighting for. The first artist lived above a pottery guild. She answered the door with ink on her fingers and irritation in her eyes. “You think I’m sneaking around with protest paint?” she scoffed. “Half my work is murals. The red you saw on the walls? Wrong mix. That was cheap stuff. Mine’s imported. Cost me triple.” She shoved a crate of pigments at me, receipts clipped neatly to the side.

"You should have used the yellow wolfsbane, works everytime." He gasped, struggling against my grip. I smirked at his pale face as it had lost all it's color. "No one needs a priest like you, in fact, I'm doing the world a favor. You should've confessed your sins when I gave you the chance to, maybe you could've been going to a better place or else…" I trailed off, digging my claws harder into his neck. "...see you in hell." Just then, I clawed at his stomach, causing blood to splash all over myself. His lifeless body dropped helplessly to the ground, a pool of blood quickly forming around him.

I faced the portrait before me and began to paint. As I used the colour palette close to me and drew, the next minute I was done, I looked at the beautiful painting before. It was a naked portrait of a woman in tears. Close to her were two men with double spears trying to attack her and her baby.

A low raspy laugh filled my ears adding horrific images to my paranoia. I quieted it was no use fighting the unknown. I had no choice but to hold on to Yulian’s promise; I would be okay. My breathing hitched, dampness brushed through my breast. The strong smell of paint covered my nostrils. Strokes were meticulously laid and I became a canvass of an obscure art. “She’s all done,” announced a man, I presumed the painter. He rounded me once more before patting my behind. “Yeah, she’s all good. What marvelous skin you have! A living porcelain doll!”

That had never happened before. ‘Esha.’ She smiled, a faint dimple forming on her left cheek. She sat down and said, ‘I see you are quite an artist, Anubhav.’ ‘Excuse me?’ Esha pointed towards the pamphlet in Anubhav’s hand. It was the pamphlet circulated by the promoters of the Flamenco. It had a nice picture of the group along with their names. On the other side was a close-up of the director, a man with a square jaw and long white unkempt hair. Over his picture, there was a nice little sketch of the male genitalia.