Phantom Artwork Novels & Stories

Kade POV Ricci had been blowing up my phone all morning informing me that information on his laptop had been leaked to the Sinaloa’s with Phantom’s trademark signature (a grim reaper emoji). The emoji had been something I had started years ago when I posted a ghost emoji anytime, I came across another hacker. Phantom had been dormant for almost 6 months. Why was he appearing now? What was the purpose of leaking any information? Was it in fact Phantom? Too many questions invaded my brain. I handed Evelyn a thumb drive with all of the information that I had.

Purposefully fragmented. A sleeve that folded into itself. A bodice that misaligned under artificial light. Hems are designed to reflect under camera flashes. Colours that clashed in rendering but harmonised in motion. **A ghost line.** Something that couldn’t be photographed cleanly, couldn’t be modelled in virtual form, and wouldn’t translate into AI optimisation. It was uncopyable. It was hers. She called it *Phantom Line*. Every silhouette told a story, but in this collection, every thread was a trap. Any attempt to digitise it would distort the design beyond repair. The AI version would fail to process the ghost seams, misread the proportioned angles, and flatten the dimensional illusio

I try not to let my mind wander back to the contract, the no PDA in public rule as well as the rule that he initiates all PDA in public spring to mind regretfully. "Come on, we still need to find you some art" I mumble against his lips with a grin as we finally pull away. It takes a while, nothing seeming to jump out at Rhodes as meaningful or special. I don't want to force it, make him get something that he doesn't even like. But I think this is such a good idea; a piece of art made by a friend, there aren't a lot of things more special than that. We arrive at one of the final pieces, a painting of a scenery, it looks like a schoolyard. Curiously, I lean to the side to read the inscription

"His eyes are as beautiful as the blue sea, and his face so captivating to innocence. Within his outer heart you cannot see, but deep in his arms are incisions you can read. A golden phoenix that burns itself again to live, such is the future he envisaged to be in. Stroked across with dark brushes of burnt like a wolf crest, to show that even if he left his identity all would still be evident." And exactly in those rhymes that Hama had read to her only once, she could relive the sight of the picture over and over in her head. The diagram on Arturo's arm was the same. The color of his eyes now lingered in her head too, that it could slightly match the color of hers. And the shock of it ever b

There were two other people in the whole space, both at the far end. Jonathan walked in without hesitation as I followed. Then he stopped in front of a display case near the back. Inside were maps...Old maps that were framed with hand-drawn details and names in script. They weren't geographic maps, but invented ones with cities that didn’t exist and imagined rivers. With mountains named after feelings. "This is a collection of cartographic fantasy art," Jonathan explained. "A private collector loaned it to the gallery for the month and I came here two weeks ago. I stood in front of this and thought about your twelve notebooks."

Suddenly, a large screen lifted in front of the room and gasps filled the space as the large, human-like art works were displayed to the public. The pictures were all of women. Beautiful women in all shades, performing all activities. One of it caught my eye and using my phone, I scanned the event brochure to bring the art work onto my phone. The woman's eyes were the same color as mine and she was dressed like a cop, though the tag under her read that she was a bodyguard. “Am I crazy, or does this woman look like me?” I turned to face Xander and handed him the phone. Xander looked between the art work and me, then nodded. My throat closed as he agreed with me. “A little older but yes.”

Annabeth stands back to admire her handiwork, and I can’t help but clap my hands like a kid. With the addition of each work of art, the walls have come to life, the different shades of grey providing the perfect foil for the bright drawings and paintings. Next to each frame is a white card with the name of the artist and title of the artwork, along with a brief description and a price.

making Nishi nod her head in response. “Oh, I do wait for a second” Nishi removes the phone out of her front pocket with was cracked from the coner along with the scratches over the screen. Unlocking her phone as she clicks over the picture albums scrolling through them one after the other as fast as she could. With the faint blush over her cheeks which were more filled with the animated pictures of boy x boys on her phone. Some were sketches some were digital art. Some were the one 18+ art on her phone shaking her head as she scrolls down more further and further.

I deleted his number from my phone, a symbolic gesture that did nothing to erase the memory of his touch, his taste, the sounds he made when I raked my nails down his stomach. I worked through the night, hands cramping, eyes burning. By morning, I had completed seven new pieces. I photographed them against my skin, making sure the lighting highlighted the details that would justify the prices I needed to charge. The caption I wrote for the first I*******m post was simple: When they try to break you, make art from the pieces. I hit "share". * * *

“Inspect the tableware, Chika.” Confused by his focus on the porcelain, I stepped to the mahogany edge and picked up a heavy, custom-fired ceramic bowl. To my absolute disbelief, an elite graphic artist had printed a stylized, sharp-chinned cartoon image of my wolf form—complete with my distinct silver-tinted fur and arrogant scowl—directly onto the glaze of every plate and vessel. Thinking my vision was playing tricks due to the concussion, I picked up a platter, inspecting the border work three times.