Madara Artwork Novels & Stories

It was a sorrowful grayscale painting by the late Mandrel Adeline. Its haunting but colorful outlook depicted a lone figure standing in a vast, space, with his hands stretched toward something unseen and seeming forever out of reach. She inhaled slowly, knowing what it meant. “Still staring?” Malcolm's soft, dulcet voice called Zoe out of her thoughts, and she turned to see him watching her, while holding two wine glasses in his hand. “I didn’t know you collected CGI artifacts,” she said instead, tearing her gaze away from the paintings, and to the right side where the most fascinating objects stole her attention even more.

Ada Wood worked really hard. The painting's last corner was unfinished. She wished to complete the picture. Jump out of the arms of and then pick up the cans on the ground, facing his arm, hard to row down. He stretched out to grab the scarlet blood that was flowing from his arm. Then walk to the last corner, pick up the brush on the ground, stained with the blood of millions of cool cities, and continue to paint on it. Ada Wood's paintings in the last corner are vivid red, not roses. It's a lovely flower. It can only exist on the road of the yellow spring, no matter how lovely it is. stands peacefully alongside Ada Wood, allowing her to use his blood as paint.

But her mother hadn't told or explained anything to her, and that had touched her deeply. They had a special bond, four hands on one stomach, so to speak. But those events had broken her confidence and left a scar on her soul. The contact with her grandmother had intensified after that. Maddie smiled. Omem was a herbalist, a Wicca, a witch as she used to call herself. She always had a pill, an herb, or a tea for everything. She loved painting and being creative. She worked with young people who were struggling and sometimes it seemed like she had a youthshelter in her big house. Maddie met a lot off young people there, whom she had never seen before. And who would have spent the night there.

MADNESS © MASTAANI. All rights reserved. This story must not be republished in any form without the consent of the author who's the copyright holder and any infringement of this book is a violation of the law. No parts of this book shall be transmitted or translated in any form. It's under the copyright of the author. I've spent hours and had restless nights thinking and writing, just to make sure that you all get the best from me, so please be kind:-)

ADAM’S POV Aria finally finishes the painting, and when she hands it to me, my heart skips a beat. I’m eager yet apprehensive, curious about the piece she has created for me. The moment I see it, a wave of emotion crashes over me. The painting depicts a breathtaking sunset, vibrant hues of orange, pink, and gold blending seamlessly in the sky over a serene body of water. The scene is unfamiliar to me, a place I’ve never been before. “Where’s this place?”

"They're not." Serena nodded slowly. Outside, a delivery truck rumbled past, rattling the warehouse's old windows in their frames. "You said you had news," Serena said. Zara smiled properly, the full version that transformed her face into something almost mischievous. "I do. I've been talking to Marcus Adeyemi." The name landed, and Serena sat up straighter. "The Marcus Adeyemi." "The only one that matters. He's curating a group exhibition of six artists, all women, all working in mixed media. Opens in eight weeks. He has five artists confirmed." Zara paused for deliberate effect. "He asked me to recommend the sixth."

"Like with Madison's daddy." Madison's hand paused in her painting for just a moment before continuing. "But sometimes they can," she said quietly. "And sometimes people get better even when doctors don't think they will." "Like miracles?" Alexander asked. "Like miracles," Madison confirmed, adding a careful stroke of blue to what was clearly Gas's collar in her painting. I felt tears threatening behind my eyes. "There," Madison said finally, sitting back to survey her completed artwork. "It's all of us together."

"The data… does not support the conclusion." It was the first crack in the grey wall inside him. One evening, Sela came alone. She carried a large, flat board. On it was a complex, beautiful mosaic made of thousands of tiny, colored stones. It depicted the Heartwood, its branches reaching for a sky full of the five stars of the Gardener. "It's for the Festival of Remembering," she said, setting it carefully against the wall. "I'm almost finished. I just need to secure the stones."

“Apologize!“ “I'm sorry,“ I pleaded. “For what?“ “For letting another man touch me.“ “Good. Very good.“ Aiden tossed the whip across the room. Then he picked up a melting candle. “What are you doing with that?“ I stuttered. “I'm going to use this candle wax to brand you as mine, Darrel,“ he revealed. “So that you don't ever forget that.“ Slowly, he spilled the melting candle wax onto my skin.

It had been meticulously planned in advance, scripted heavily by the mafia to give Amara the total spotlight and boost his standing in the viewers’ eyes before the final competition. Amara’s bright smile radiates total confidence as he replies to the master, “My mind will do its absolute best, Master Scott. My heart only hopes my humble reflections do total justice to Rosa’s pure brilliance.” Under Luciano’s approving, warm gaze, Amara launches straight into his long recitation, his soft voice gaining intense confidence with each passing word. “Actually, my own wolf is also a deeply devoted admirer of Rosa. It is truly an incredible honor to share the exact same artistic idol with your soul,