Chapter Four

The downtown art studio was my haven, safe spot, my panic room. I ease myself into art, it engulfs me. It's my emotions personified and morphed by how I feel. It's soft touch envelops me in her motherly bosom.

Comfort.

Manipulated, her sweet whispers clutch my thoughts in an orgasmic frenzy.

Seduction.

Forced, she cages my soul, fleeing away to a place only she knows. A place pain nor sorrow can follow. Away with my lover I go.

Death.

Today was no exception, the artistry of minds seeped through the room, every crevice overflowed with art brought to life by emotions.

My station was all set up. A familiar face caught my attention. I peered further behind my canvas. He was sat at the far end of the studio, hands gliding effortlessly on his canvas. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration oblivious to his surroundings. His level of passion for his work intrigued me.

My eyes drifted back to the canvas that stared at me awaiting to be given life.

I was blank.

It was like my inspiration just died. I forcefully dabbed my brush into pastel and moved it across the canvas.

That's it. That's all I could bring myself to draw? A line?

Classical music played softly in the background. Beethoven couldn't even help my situation. I stared at this canvas for what seemed to be hours.

"Hello. Miss"

I was snapped out of my trance almost immediately.

"I couldn't help but notice that you were out of touch."

My gaze was fully centered on this stranger now. He wore a baret and had this uncanny smirk plastered on his face.

"Oh my were are my manners. My name is Avon Grit"

"Uh hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Sky."

"A pretty name for a stunning young lady" He grinned.

I shuddered.

Something about him didn't sit well with me. I don't know if it was his taunting grin or the mischief that glistened in his eyes.

"Uh thanks. Um. Did you want me to help you with something?" I nervously smiled.

"Oh why yes of course. I just wanted to show you my painting. You looked like someone that knows how to appreciate good art."

He turned his canvas so that I could fully see the masterpiece he had created.

It was a picturesque of young woman clad in a white draped dress which hung effortlessly on her curves. She had an arrow through her chest, blood stained in the arms of a man. Her lover. It seemed. Just their eyes were drawn. The lower half of their faces were in a blur. But in the man's eyes was pain I never knew a painting could capture. Anguish, torment, despair all bundled up in the depths of his eyes. For the lady, it a was tranquil sadness. It seemed not for her own predicament but for what it had shattered her 'lover' to. Her frail hands hung loosely at the side of his face. I was drawn to them somehow. A psychic connection. My eyes moved ever so slowly to another man that stood in the furthest perspective of the painting with a bow in his hands. He was too far off to pick out his facial features.

The perpetrator.

"Why didn't you finish painting their faces?" I asked, eyes still fixated on how his eyes brilliantly captured his emotions.

"Because I wanted to you finish them for me" His words were laced with malice, it poisoned my thoughts.

"Me? Why?" I looked back at him.

"You know, you remind me of someone I've encountered before. Same piercing grey eyes. But her end was one not to envy"

A cold ghast of wind blew making the hairs on my skin rise. This man gave me the creeps every in passing moment.

"You still haven't answered my question"

"Look closely at the painting. You'll find all your answers there."

Confused, I turned towards the painting one more time. This, this looks familiar.

I gasped as an excruciating pain shot through my head. A loud ringing noise flooded my ears throwing me into spiraling daze. My vision slowly turned into darkness.

Sky!!