Pathetic.
A husk of a woman who once made colours weep on command. I used to paint with pain, and people called it genius. Now, all I had was pain, and it just made me still. Silenced and useless.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the canvas. And then something inside me snapped.
I tore the canvas in half.
The sound of it tore through the silence along with my frustrated grunts. My breath caught in my throat. With all the fury and shame and self-hatred I could muster, I threw it all at the door.
The moment it hit wood, the door opened.
And there she stood.
Elena.
Her expressions didn’t flinch. But I saw it. That small flicker of surprise. The tray in her hand trembled only slightly. On it, a tall glass of orange juice and perfectly sliced fruits.
Of course.
Everything here was perfect, except me.
I wiped my face. I refused to let her see the tears, even if they were still drying on my cheeks.
“I’ll clean it,” I muttered.
Elena stepped forward, calm as always. She set the tray down, watching me without judgment. Or maybe she did judge me. But she did it in silence.
“Master awaits you in his study,” she said softly.
My jaw clenched. I hated the way she said master, like I belonged to him. Like this was normal. Like I hadn’t desecrated a piece of myself in this room.
I didn’t answer. I just gathered the broken wood and mangled fabric. Hands stinging with splinters. My soul felt splintered, too.
Elena waited a few seconds longer, then added. “You should freshen up.”
I glared at her. Briefly. With the kind of contempt that had no real target. She was just doing her job. And I? I was the girl who couldn’t even do what she was born for.
The bathroom mirror was cruel.
It showed me a woman stained with colour she didn’t understand. Blue on her collarbone. Crimson down her forearm. Green smeared across her throat like ivy trying to strangle her.
I cleaned myself slowly. Methodically. Trying to erase evidence of who I’d become. I scrubbed the dried paint from my neck, my chest, and under my nails until my skin reddened and stung. But nothing worked. I was stained beneath the skin now.
I changed.
One of the dresses he’d brought. Of course it was revealing. Dark red. Silky. I was trying to do neither. But I wore it anyway.
Like a prisoner in uniform.
I didn’t touch the fruits or the juice. I didn’t deserve the softness.
I stormed down the hall, my feet silent against marble. Fury tucked behind every controlled breath. I didn’t wait for Elena. I didn’t even knock.
I pushed the door open and froze.
There were three people in the room.
Two women. And one man.
