Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

The curtains were half open, allowing the newly risen moonlight to seep in faintly and cast indistinct shadows across his face. Several photographs were scattered on the desk. They were taken from various angles: faces, chests, hands, wounds and crude tattoos belonging to people who were no longer alive. The bodies of the rogues who attacked Eirene were stiff, their eyes staring blankly. Blood had dried on the asphalt, mingling with dust and last night’s rain. Fabrizio stood with both hands braced against the edge of the desk. His gaze was sharp and cold as he scanned every detail, trying to pierce the layers of dead flesh to see the truth beneath.

I grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but it seemed locked. The sound reverberated in our ears for a long time. A musty, dank order sneaked into my nose. Weeds of dark leafy were clinging on the roof, due to which any person would faint. The house's walls showed black decay with various names written on them with red ink or blood. Stains of original paint indicated the house's prior affluence. The fresh blood of humans covered the corners of the doors with tiny black spiders thread towards their loot. It reflected a royal yet haunted image as if Kings and queens lived here for centuries.

If you looked closely, you could see the faint outlines of the mansion’s floor plan woven into the briars. Blood: A violent, crimson abstract that captured the night of the gala and the biological war of the Trust. It was thick, textured, and moved like a living thing under the gallery lights. Sky: An open-concept masterpiece of blues, golds, and whites. It was the New Sanctuary. It was the moment Ethan called Zander “Dad.” It was the feeling of oxygen finally reaching lungs that had been drowning for years. “It’s haunting,” a critic whispered, not realizing I was standing behind him. “It’s as if she didn’t just paint it—she bled it.”

Shades of red, brown and black diademed the canvas, yet not getting mixed together, as if they harboured misogyny. The form became more vivid as the lifeless colours brought life in the painting. And then, like a gentle stroke of a fine paintbrush on the canvas, an obnoxiously metallic smell of blood wafted in my nostrils. Blood! The colours swirled and turned into something more vivid. I could see the form clearly now. I scrunched up my nose as the smell of fresh blood became more intense, almost unbearable. I walked to the figure through the blur and hollow, my instinct telling me to stop.

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.

The video, which was written by a shameless woman, shows a confession of Vina who is pregnant with her lover's child with a happy face. Diana just smiled knowingly because there had been many cases like that. He only advised his family not to do that. While the two were talking, Nayya suddenly became very emotional. Something inside him opened up, causing him to take out the knife the waiter had accidentally brought him. He slashed his hand so that the blood flowed down. Nayya even smeared the blood on her painting making everyone who saw it scared. The painting that was originally beautiful has now become full of blood. The woman in the painting looks crying, but the tears don't come from N

Three months later, I swung open the doors to our hideout. Black Viper paused polishing his gun as I walked in. "You've got some nerve coming back here." "Where else can I go?" I retorted with an icy laugh. "Bradley's got a hit out on me. I'm a marked man." He gave me a once-over, his eyes lingering on my gloved right hand. "Hand's out of commission?" "Completely." My eyes fell. "Can't even grip a paintbrush."

I marveled at the talent of the painter, with each stroke brought so much life to the painting. The second painting hanging side by side with first was the painting of 5 people cloaked in a dark robe from head to their ankles, the only visible part of them was their feet and wrist. It was impossible to tell if any was a man or a woman. They were walking in a straight line arranged according to their height with the tallest at the very end and the shortest in front. I thought inherently they were human at first but on a second look I saw the man at the very end had an extremely big hand and feet, and both were painted white, his back was also bent in a very unnatural way. The face of the crea

As for Holly, her bodyguard sent her back to the Fox residence. After the robbing incident, Bryce let every bodyguard carry guns, as it was legal there. Just as she had reached the Fox residence and grabbed a drink, Holly received a call from Zorro. He said he had received "Child's Arrival", a painting by Denzel Winter. He needed her help to check if it was authentic. Denzel was a famous painter from the Toulouse era. He was a genius, and people would call him St. Paint. He became popular at a young age, and he dared to be innovative with painting.