Heavenly White Paint Novels & Stories

I answered. "White? Why?" He asked. "Because white is peaceful, it makes me calm and soothe my nerves. It is cold and it has its beauty" I answered. "But, white changes colour very frequently" He replied. "Means?" I asked. "White is plain, uncoloured. If you add any colour it will change its presence. Then, it will be no more white while... Black, No matter how many colours you add to it never loses its existence." He said looking into my eyes.

Before her stood a masterpiece born from the depths of her soul, each brushstroke telling a story of resilience, hope, and the unwavering power of love. The painting was a breathtaking portrayal of a serene landscape, with rolling hills bathed in the soft light of dawn. The sky above was a canvas of pastel hues, blending seamlessly from shades of pink and orange to hints of lavender and gold. It was a scene of tranquil beauty, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of the world.

We pulled over in front of a gigantic mansion. It's walls were all painted grey with a bit shades of black around the windows and doors. The mansion was beautiful and the lights in the garden and surrounding the entire mansion only made the mansion look more breathtaking. I remembered my own home. It was also a mansion painted in nothing but white. I loved the color white so much and my dad even painted my entire room in white not the typical pink color for a girl's room. A lone tear slipped recollecting my father's current state. His accident was too hard to believe as he wasn't a reckless driver.

Arthur explained to the table as he munched some butter cookies and sipped some hot chocolate. “A very controversial pigment by the way— that Vantablack— I heard there’s a conflict regarding who can use the pigment and who cannot. Anyways, I wonder who will get that painting. It would be such a statement to their house, might as well display it to their office, living room or their collection room if they have one.” Excami explained further. But hestia is still confused, she still can’t get the logic— their logic in this. “But still, why have that? Why buy that/ why commission to have that made?”

How badly do I envy her ability to close her eyes and immediately drift off to the dream world. I tear my eyes away from my window, letting out a resigned sigh as I lay on my bed, now staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Why must all ceilings be painted white? Why can't it be pink or blue or even burgundy? Burgundy is a nice color, I'd like to see it on something else aside from accessories and clothings. Staring at the white ceiling is like staring at a blank canvas, I can imagine anything I want on it and somehow my mind just drifts to Karl.

I gasp. My eyelids fly open. “What is it?” Mitch asks with great interest. Standing, as well. Blue had not been a hue I’d contemplated, for fear it would meld right into the ocean scenery. No, I want something that grabs and commands attention. I immediately visualize a shade so rich and brilliant, a blue-turquoise so sensational, it truly would be a beacon. Turquoise and white. With a darker blue or possibly black as a faint enhancement around the fringes to make it all pop.

Alexandria said and dragged me inside the mansion. The mansion is a magnificent mansion, a vision of elegance and luxury. The white-themed mansion stands proudly amidst sprawling gardens, its grandeur captivating all who lay eyes upon it. The pristine white exterior gleams under the sunlight, exuding an aura of purity and sophistication. Every detail, from the intricately carved pillars to the ornate balconies, showcases exquisite craftsmanship. Inside, the spacious rooms are adorned with opulent white furnishings, creating an atmosphere of serenity and tranquility. Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, casting a soft, ethereal glow. As I explored the mansion, I discovered white marbl

"Right there. With the moon behind you. Perfect. You're perfect. I need to paint this." I squeezed paint onto my palette. Blues and whites and silvers. And I also use black for the shadows. Purples for depth and mystery. Then I began. My brush moved across the canvas with confidence I didn't remember earning. Quick, sure strokes. Like my hands knew what to do even if my mind didn't question where the skill came from. The wolf took shape. It was Massive and majestic. White fur that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Silver eyes that held centuries of intelligence and power.

“Like an overdose thing?” “Yeah.” “Yes, of course. If he’s still immobile, then they shouldn’t be using the high one or the darker cream, as it might be too much pressure for the muscles.” “Darker cream?” My forehead creased as I twisted the cap to open it. “Did you mean the color of the cream?” “Yes. The darker it is, the more concentrated the mixture is.” “So, how can a white become darker? What color should it be?” “What white?”

, which was what they called the little six by six heavily ventilated room they had to store and mix paint in. Along one wall there was a work counter, but other than that the whole room was lined with shelves of paint almost to the ceiling. In the corner there was an urn-like machine that old paint got poured into and the thinner extracted from. They'd recycle it and use it to clean stuff around the shop. The paint closet was always clean and well organized. It was a necessity in their line of business, where they often had custom artwork projects where paint couldn't be mixed or mistaken. They were sorted by manufacturer, then by colour, then by finish type. That made it very easy to match