Novel & Cerita Curse Painter

of the person who owns them. "What's under that paint?" Artemisia pointed to the badly painted part, the witch looked confused at that point on the page. It was funny, since it was "hidden" as nutty as possible, anyone, at least that's what Artemisia thought, could see that there was something else on that page, besides the fact that the letters were so dark that the ink wasn't enough to cover everything. "Don't laugh at me, sometimes we don't find things when we're looking." Leonore said as she rolled her eyes and made a mini cloud of lilac smoke stop on top of that part.

What else did his curse comprise of that I didn't know? "I courted seven ladies in the past. Unfortunately, none of them lived long enough to walk to the isle with me. My curse somehow affected them and killed them all. I guess they were too fragile to handle such burden." His eyes glistened with tears but as quickly as they came, so also they dried up. I have never survived any of Veronica's maltreatment nor Vivian's, without falling unconscious. Just how long would I endure before his curse finally took my soul?

But I have a need to speak, even to the ghost of you haunting this room. The ink gathered, a small, black star in the white. I am weighted with the symbols of my own failure. The paintings… They are horrible things. I look at them and I don't see art; I see a map of a ruined country, a geography of a mind falling apart. I painted your face, or the recollection of it, and my hand could not express the heat of it, only that moment it looked away from me. I've become the curator of my own damnation, and these paintings are the exhibits.

To a Tactician, it was a topographic map of intent. The brushstrokes were aggressive. Upward slashes. Violence in the wrist movement. The painter hadn't just marked the territory; they had struck it. The white pigment was thick, industrial-grade polymer—likely scavenged from the Dregs' shipyards where the hulls of dead tankers rotted in the acid rain. And it was fresh. The smell hit the back of my throat—sharp, chemical acetone. It cut through the prevailing stench of mold and urine, stinging my sinuses.

She asked after minutes of comfortable silence. “The eyes.” I answered. “They’re always too still. You never look still.” “Didn’t think you’d notice something like that” She admitted. “Artist curse.” I muttered. More like lover’s curse. Yeah, I was definitely doomed. “I’m not complaining or anything but you couldn’t use a picture? It would have been faster and easier.” I shrugged. “Yeah but not as authentic. When you want to make a photocopy of a document, you don’t make it from another photocopy; you make use of the original.”

The color of the night was frighteningly black and the moon was red as if it was showing anger hidden inside someone. Lucifer stood in front of the room in his huge castle while he painted, he was trying to calm himself by painting. The paintings had a deep impact on him intellectually, physically, and mentally. He was furious, he just wanted his maid to be with him but because of Anastasia's curse, he couldn't do it. He had a bad temper which would scare anyone who witnesses the chaos he would cause out of it. Suddenly he glanced at the door and listened as someone made their way towards it.

Marco asked If he was really interested in what will happen next. "He chose to kill himself," sister Clarity said. "What if the guy can't die? What if he will never die?" Ken asked with a stern voice. "What do you mean Mr Hendrix?" Sister Clarity's brows crossed. "I mean what if that was cursed of Lucifer to him? What If he was cursed to live forever so that he'll suffer forever, watching the woman he loves die repeatedly." My brows crossed. I heard a pinch of pain in his voice or maybe I was just delusional. Plus his idea made me more confused and curious about the two angel's love stories.

"Your powers are unlike anything this family has produced in three generations. I have seen what you can do when you are pushed. You cleared out an entire wing of soldiers the night the eastern border was breached. You were seventeen years old." "I know what I did," I said. "Then you know what you are capable of." He picked up his fork again. "We are running out of time, Seraphine. Destroying the Ashfords may be the only real chance we have to break this curse completely. The longer it sits on this bloodline, the worse it gets. You know that." I didn't say anything. "Sienna doesn't have much time," he said. "You know that too." The candlelight flickered.

If you can show me a perfect man then I will show you a leprechaun, riding a unicorn over a double rainbow, with a fairy holding a pot of gold at the end of it all. ".... Well? Will you reveal the whereabouts of the painter so that I can recruit him as my personal court artist?" He poked further to get an affirmative answer from me. Where in hell would I be able to bring in the erotic painter that painted the 21st century 3D porn magazine? Should I haul a printer at his pervy face? I gritted my teeth a bit harder while pondering about how I should reply to this guy's inquiries.