Madara Artwork Novels & Stories

She had never expected Sadie to show up like this. Panic flashed across her features, impossible to hide. She demanded, "Who are you? Who put you up to slandering me?" Sadie held her gaze, cold and unflinching. "Everything I said is true. No one sent me to slander you. I'm here to expose the truth, so no one else falls for your lies." When she finished speaking, Sadie wheeled closer to the painting "Quagmire". "This painting came from my darkest moment, instead of pain or despair. It's about finding the courage to reach for the light, even when stuck in the mire. I'll never stop fighting, even if the struggle leaves me scarred."

The art gallery in Chelsea was not the kind of place Aria Stone—or rather, Aria West—used to frequent. It was small, edgy, and smelled faintly of turpentine and pretension. But tonight, it felt like the Louvre. The walls were lined with canvases. Landscapes, mostly. Moody, dark forests that opened up into sudden, blinding clearings of light. They were Theo’s. Aria stood in front of a painting titled The Fortress. It showed a castle, not made of stone, but of interwoven hands.

“That’s what it looks like to me. As if the artifact existed first, and then someone came along and carved the animal into it afterward… or forced the designs together.” A faint chill ran through me. “So they weren’t made by the same person?” Eira asked. “Most likely not,” Elder Anna replied. “Everything about them feels… separate. Like two different intentions pressed into one piece.” If there were more answers, they were probably buried somewhere in Medina’s sketches —but going through that felt like trying to empty an ocean with a cup. There were just too many. Medina wasn’t easy to define. People called her a great witch, but that didn’t quite cover it. She didn’t just use magic—she pick

Madden dropped the gun on the floor. He got some clay and poured them on her blood. The blood served as water as he mixed the clay with it. He used the bloody clay to finish her image. He smiled cruelly at the masterpiece in front of him, but the smile didn't last as he went to another angle in the room where he keeps his masterpieces. There are like ten images there, and he walked past them till he got to the one at the far end.

However, the word he had earlier heard interrupted his flow of thoughts, and the emotions that were creeping into him. Arthmata, Arthmata, Arthmata. The words resounded in his head in the very manner and pace the woman had said it. It, however, sounded more of a ghostly echo. Who was that woman? And what the hell is Arthmata? The woman looked worried when he met her. Their car had rammed into a truck. However, one thing caught his eye- Her eyes. When he first saw them, the top right quarter of her iris was red, the top left corner green, a the lower right quarter blue and the remaining quarter orange, and it seemed to glow dimly. The pupil was black, but it was blacker that the pupil anyone

She didn’t have much control over her mind right now. “What a terrible oversight.” Amara said, disappointed. “Thanks again Zee.” “Anytime. Goodnight you guys.” “Night.” Inara and her sister answered. They watched Zee get back in her truck and drive off before entering the house. “How was your exhibition?” “Fantastic. You know, Higgins is such a prolific painter. You need to see the excellence in his well crafted images drawn from simple earth colors with precise strokes that mirror the true nature of art in its ...”

Everyone knows me as a gentle and calm wife. On our wedding night, my husband, Julian Chapman, sleeps with another woman. I tell myself that it's part of being married and that I should be understanding. He blows through the 30,000 dollars I brought into the marriage. I kept my silence. Then, he brings home one mistress after another. I pour them drinks myself. When his gambling debts finally catch up with him, he sells me to a brothel without a second thought. "This is my wife. She's quiet, obedient, and easy to deal with. Take her instead. Do whatever you want with her." I laugh. He has no idea that I had a reputation before I ever married him. They called me the Queen of Hell. I ha

There was something maternal about the way she interacted with Elara, a gentle presence that had become a source of comfort over the years. As they walked through the gallery, Miriam’s attention was drawn to a small painting tucked away in a corner—a piece Elara had painted herself. It was abstract, filled with sweeping strokes of deep blues and vibrant oranges, representing the emotional turmoil Elara had experienced during her battle with Cassia and her journey toward healing. Miriam paused in front of the painting, her gaze thoughtful. “This piece,” she said softly, “it feels so personal. Like a reflection of everything you’ve been through.”

I sat beside Alex as everyone entered the hall. I was lost in the painting opposite me when Alex lightly nudged me. “Darling?” I turned to him in surprise, and he nodded towards his grandmother. “It seems…” she raised her eyebrows, prompting me to reintroduce myself. “Alice ma’am.” Did she forget my name already? We just met when we arrived. “…Alice is so captivated by the artwork. Do you know about paintings?” “I don’t really know much about it ma’am.” “That is El Ficado’s work. It’s the only oil optical illusion painting he has. It’s really captivating.” Maddie smiled.

••~~MADDISON~~•• Oh come on, Maddison… this is Corian’s doctor. How could that give you the ick? My eyes trailed where he was looking. Corian had art on basically every wall.... bold, moody pieces that looked like they’d been through some shit. One canvas behind him grabbed me; all shadows, messy smudges, and these deep, bleeding reds. His art made this huge, cold billionaire house feel a little less like a museum and a little more like… somebody actually lived here. Like somebody actually felt stuff.