Author : Sommer Nectarhoff
He knew what she would look like before she was created. He had always known.
“Yes, I’ve always known.” He smiled into her closed eyes as he raised his brush to add a few eyelashes to one of her eyelids.
They said that he would be unable to do it. They said that he was mad.
Mad? No, he was an artist.
“I am an artist.”
The tip of the paintbrush floated in the air and left little strokes of paint hanging before him that were held aloft by the tenacity of his imagination. He dabbed a little bit of pink around the right nipple to add some texture to her areola.
He touched his finger to the left nipple. It was cold and slightly hard. The paint had dried.
The artist circled his painting. When he was at her back he stopped and looked closely at her neck.
“You are too perfect, my darling.”
He took his knife and mixed a chestnut brown on the palette. He took a clean brush and dipped it into the paint before adding a few freckles to her neck.
He circled the naked woman again.
Once. Twice.
The brush dipped again to the palette and he added some shade above her navel and then put his materials on the work table before sitting down on his stool, where he gazed at the painting for some time.
She was tall, but a few inches shorter than he was. Her lips were a bright and bloody red, her cheeks a softer hue.
He stood and took a pin from the table. He held it in his left hand and pricked his right thumb.
A few drops of blood emerged from the tiny hole in his skin. He set the pin back down and raised his thumb. He pressed the blood to her bloody red lips.
“I love you.”
And then he leaned forward and closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her naked body and kissed her.
Warmth began to flow through her body. Her heart fluttered against his chest.
He took a step back and watched as she stirred.
She opened her eyes. Her irises were an icy blue.
“Mad? No, I am an artist.”
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