Marceline Drawing 소설 & 이야기

Marcel sneered and ignored their explanations, "She could also memorize all the styles in advance and then draw them little by little every day, just for show!" "I didn't..." Makenna defended herself, tears of injustice streaming down her face. "These are all my own drawings, if you insist on accusing me of plagiarism, then they must have copied my work first!"

I never planned on attending the school's Valentine's party, but when Ms. Sinclair, the visual art teacher, asked me for help to oversee the picture booth they'd rented just for the special event. It felt good that someone needed me for something, so I accepted it instantly. Now that I've had a terrible day at school, I regret having done so. I put on a V-neckline, crimson red dress that reached below my knees, black heels, and a red shawl around my shoulders.

The table that he had placed aesthetically near the balcony was asked to be moved elsewhere. Even so, there was no sign of fatigue on Marcel’s face, which was full of sweat. He had been working all day, hadn’t had breakfast, and had only eaten a slice of cheese bread that he had sneakily grabbed when serving breakfast. And by late afternoon, Marcel was still full of energy until he finished putting up the decorations as requested by Shirley and her siblings. “Marcel, how come you haven’t been seen all day?” Venya greeted when Marcel appeared in the lab after dark.

“I didn’t give it to please you.” “Good.” Silence settled between them. Unlike Bojie’s silence, this one offered no comfort. Unlike Draven’s, it did not heat the air. It pressed. Patiently. Intelligently. The way a thumb might press into soft wax to see what shape remained. Marcellus reached into a drawer and removed a narrow strip of parchment. It was blank. He laid it on the desk between them. “Touch it.” Amelia did not move. His gaze flicked to her hand, then back to her face.

I’m so gonna beat his ass! I sit Marcel down on the couch and look at the clock on the wall. It’s one in the afternoon and I haven’t been eating correctly over the last week. I head over to my art room and bring back a stack of A3 sheets of paper and a box of wax crayons and another box with pastels in it. Placing them on the table, I look at the two of them, “Draw me some pictures while I make lunch for us,” I look at Marcel and order him, “Draw a picture for my mate and when he gets back, I want you to give it to him.”

"Do you have a moment?" "I'm actually in a bit of a hurry," I lied, already reaching for Marcello's hand to pull him toward the door, but she was holding up a piece of paper and something about her expression made me stop. "Marcello drew this today during art time," she said, holding out the paper, and I took it with hands that wanted to shake but I forced them steady through sheer will. It was a family portrait, the kind that every three-year-old draws with stick figures that have circle heads and triangle bodies and no sense of proportion, three people standing in a row holding hands with a yellow sun in the corner and green grass under their feet.

she called gently, “come have some fruit.” No answer. The door to his room stood slightly ajar. Ava pushed it open just enough to peek inside. Marcello stood by his desk, a palette in one hand, completely absorbed in his painting. On the paper before him, the picture was nearly finished. It depicted a magnificent castle. Two horses stood side by side before its gates. Not far away, on a patch of green grass, a small boy chased butterflies beneath the sun. On the horses sat a man and a woman.

She giggled the more. Marcel laughed loudly at the child’s words. What the actual fuck? He laughed the most when Izabelle quickly rejected that the woman on the drawing board was her. The drawing was kind of the opposite of her. The hair, the shape of the woman. But Marcel couldn’t help but want to kiss the child right now because, for her age, it was fucking best. “I drew Mommy. Mommy sat while I drew her. Isn’t she pretty?” “Pretty what? That’s a woman in your head and not me.”

Already clad in her uniform, April Rose greeted and tried her best to imitate Marceline’s very own vibrancy. Marceline noticed the bright tone in her roommate's voice. She got up, sat on her bed, and stretched her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re—are you excited for the draw?” “What draw?” April Rose asked. In her head, she’s trying to figure out what Marceline was talking about. She knew deep in herself that she was just excited to start the day. While she had heard many rude remarks last week from Miss Foxglove to a few students, Marceline’s positive disposition was infectious and actually helped her cheer up.

“You have an unshakable force like Bonafide behind you but I don’t. Alexander is still a powerful figure, and I need to be careful.” Marceline didn’t respond right away. I could see the way she weighed my words. Finally, she gave a stiff nod, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine,” she said curtly. “For now.” I could see she was temporarily appeased and I took the chance to ask for another request before she could change her mind. “I’d like to see Liam. Please.” Marceline’s expression barely changed, then she gave me a mocking smile. “Why are you asking me about Liam?”