Painter Of The Night S3 Novels & Stories

She expected him to move, but he stayed firm on his feet, looking at the red satin draped canvas. “I made all these,” He said, his eyes briefly going around the room, referencing the paintings. Eira received no warning before his hand reached up and gracefully pulled the cloth down. She knew it was going to happen at any moment now. The dream would end and she would wake, never finding what lay behind the cover. But her feet were still stuck to the ground. No, things faded in or out of the picture. It was still there. And when she raised her eyes, she finally saw her…

He was also startled when Sachin grabbed him by the neck when he was about to park in another hotel that was never named in the society but was having a good income. "Tell me you're not going to make me sleep in that dirty place." Sachin coldly stated, gripping him hard. "I only have cash." Brandon said in defeat. "No!" Sachin screamed at his face, going insane. "Contact Carlson!" Dini said indifferently from the backseat. "But it's already in the middle of the night." He pointed to the time. What answered Brandon was cold silence. Having no choice, Brandon sighs and gets his phone to call Carlson.

I didn't tell Lian to leave me, and he did exactly what I instructed him. My chest clenched as I carefully sat down on the sofa in front of the transparent glass wall of my flat, where I could see the light below through the clear glass. Because there is no natural light in this room, it is quite dark. The only source of illumination is the moonlight.

Tabitha's POV Upon hearing Noah's words, I followed his gaze and looked over. When I saw the painting hanging on the wall, I was stunned. Noah's excited voice still echoed in my ears: "Tabitha, do you know who painted this? The painter must have a broad vision and a beautiful mind." I looked at the painting, which presented a profound forest night scene with a full moon hanging in the night sky. The silver moonlight poured down, penetrating through layers of overlapping leaves, bringing a touch of mysterious brightness to the dark forest.

The room quieted. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight." Her voice carried. Professional. Warm. "We're honored to present the centerpiece of this collection. A deeply personal work by Miss Sienna Blake. She's titled it 'That Night.'" The assistant pulled away a black cloth. The painting emerged. Gasps. Whispers. Camera flashes. It was large. Overwhelming. Intimate. Two bodies tangled in shadows. Moonlight spilling across bare skin. Sheets twisted. A hand resting on a chest. A window half-open showing city lights beyond.

For a minute suddenly Mike speaks "Yes, I usually work at night times (smirks) I feel the atmosphere of colors during the surroundings are dark and quiet, how about you? Is there any special or just prefer thing why you work at night times?" Then Sam: "Both of them have special reasons and prefer things, since I tried to work at night I observed that when everything is quiet your mind will lend a good focus even though there are times it is quite sleepy but you know the power of coffee," And Mike stops his painting to heat the heater and prepare some coffee, he then asks Sam about his past.

Protect the life they'd built. Tomorrow, she would fight. Tomorrow, she would end this. But tonight, she had this. Her studio. Her paintings. Her quiet. The last night before everything changed. She picked up her brush. Painted until her arm ached. Until the light faded. Until she couldn't see anymore. Tomorrow, she would face whatever was coming. Tonight, she let herself work. —