The loft had been cleaned out and everything moved. Sometimes Mera couldn't help but feel that restless urge to pick up everything and move. She had become more and more of the prickling sensation on the end of her emotions, that haunted sensation as she stared at the white skein of artist's cloth stretched thin across the easel. No matter how blank the cloth she always saw images. Images of her life before and the past, the visions of the one called Lincoln Priest who she knew as Vladimir that she had loved fiercely and strong enough to go against the respect of her own friend, Anna.
Anna had slowly lost her mind, her mind seeming to break and split till even Merahsha wasn't sure where Anna ended and Natasha began. Under a full moon they had buried her and there was no sense of guilt only of freedom when she knew that the emotions between her and Priest could be acknowledged for once. How was Mera to know that Vladimir's anger had another source; that his fury was not just rage but his own mind breaking and the insanity sinking through. Or more so that he didn't really see her anymore. Sometimes he was better and back to normal, back to the man that she loved and adored as her mate and life long companion but even that would change when he went savage and wild to the point his hand had tightened around her own throat and nearly taken her life from her. He had despised the vampires, and the take over of their territory, losing the private war of the local kiss against the local pack had snapped his mind and left him as only a shell of the man she once knew.
Even now she could still see his face as she touched her fingertips to that blank canvas. That touch could provoke another memory that of the wild rebellious wolf Tristan of the rival pack. When Mera knew she could not have Lincoln she had turned to Tristan. She had thought she was his only and everything, but when she found the younger wolf that 'she- had protected from Lincoln back so long ago in Tristan's bed she knew she wasn't his only. Something had snapped in him to, so unstable he had gone wild and mad. She still could see the tree" their tree" on that blank canvas and remembered the torn ruin he had made of it when the beast took over and he uprooted the tree. The destruction of the tree she could only see as a denouncement perhaps of the shared affections.
Now again she was alone, perhaps just as broken as all the men she had loved and lost, staring at that blank canvas before looking down to the paints on the palette. Nothing moved her anymore and the will to paint seemed to have died along with her spirit. Frowning to herself she shook her head and crawled away from that empty room and that empty canvas. Climbing to the rooftop she found a perch to light up a clove after so many struggles against the wind and the rain.
Huddling there the rain was nothing to her as it soaked through her clothes and into her skin. Maybe the rain would just wash it all away like so many pale shades of grey that did nothing more then remind her of the dirty cobblestones and the London fog of the place she once knew as nothing more then home?
Anna had slowly lost her mind, her mind seeming to break and split till even Merahsha wasn't sure where Anna ended and Natasha began. Under a full moon they had buried her and there was no sense of guilt only of freedom when she knew that the emotions between her and Priest could be acknowledged for once. How was Mera to know that Vladimir's anger had another source; that his fury was not just rage but his own mind breaking and the insanity sinking through. Or more so that he didn't really see her anymore. Sometimes he was better and back to normal, back to the man that she loved and adored as her mate and life long companion but even that would change when he went savage and wild to the point his hand had tightened around her own throat and nearly taken her life from her. He had despised the vampires, and the take over of their territory, losing the private war of the local kiss against the local pack had snapped his mind and left him as only a shell of the man she once knew.
Even now she could still see his face as she touched her fingertips to that blank canvas. That touch could provoke another memory that of the wild rebellious wolf Tristan of the rival pack. When Mera knew she could not have Lincoln she had turned to Tristan. She had thought she was his only and everything, but when she found the younger wolf that 'she- had protected from Lincoln back so long ago in Tristan's bed she knew she wasn't his only. Something had snapped in him to, so unstable he had gone wild and mad. She still could see the tree" their tree" on that blank canvas and remembered the torn ruin he had made of it when the beast took over and he uprooted the tree. The destruction of the tree she could only see as a denouncement perhaps of the shared affections.
Now again she was alone, perhaps just as broken as all the men she had loved and lost, staring at that blank canvas before looking down to the paints on the palette. Nothing moved her anymore and the will to paint seemed to have died along with her spirit. Frowning to herself she shook her head and crawled away from that empty room and that empty canvas. Climbing to the rooftop she found a perch to light up a clove after so many struggles against the wind and the rain.
Huddling there the rain was nothing to her as it soaked through her clothes and into her skin. Maybe the rain would just wash it all away like so many pale shades of grey that did nothing more then remind her of the dirty cobblestones and the London fog of the place she once knew as nothing more then home?