7 Art is Subjective

"You do not make for a good feature."

No longer on his throne the skeleton peered at part of his wall, the only part that wasn't flat as the debris and carnage of the fight so long ago had long since worn away.

A rough shape of a man screaming as if sealed into the very wall itself was all that was left of Randall, but his mind was ever so much alive, set in stone until Eva died.

"They say art is subjective, that it depends on the eyes, but I have none… so I do not know what to make of you."

"I suppose I should name you, or the piece of work that you encompass, you only have so much longer left."

Looking behind the skeleton watched the dark cocoon, it had begun to shrink rapidly, almost nearing completion as the figure within breathed faster, almost as if she wanted to awaken already.

Whilst Eva beneath was left with nothing but a head as she was still being slowly dismantled.

It wouldn't be long.

"The Injustice of faith…no, too childish."

"A lover's demise… you'd need a true lover for that to work."

"It is hard to name art, ah, I think I know."

Happy with the name the skeleton rubbed his finger forcefully over the wall, causing it to shudder ever so slightly in painful silence.

"Blemish."

"You are a blot, a stain that is hard to remove yet even when gone you leave horrid marks, ones that I am forced to stare upon."

"So what do you think of the name?"

There was no response from the wall.

"I didn't think you would reply."