It felt strange to return to the gallery. Windsor had known well the secrets that Chela possessed and yet there never had been a disgust or turn against the dark painter when the gallery owner had discovered just where Chela?s inspiration came from.
Usually Chela was only present in the gallery to drop off the recent collection for the Dark Man. A go between place for the Dark Man to gather the souls he sent Chela out to claim, but the letter she received that morning demanded another obligation.
Chela had no choice but even if she had she would have taken up the opportunity as she had missed the Art. She had missed more then anything the opportunity to find the calm within the chaos.
To take up the brush again over a weapon was an odd gift, but a gift nonetheless. Which left her to wonder again what purpose and intent this all had. There was something that the Dark Man had planned, she believed that more then anything.
Brows furrowed as she paused before the blank canvas, taking a step back as fingers tangled into the blue-black of her hair and pulled it into a messy ponytail. The withdraw of those crow black feathers caught the dim light and shifted colors of shadows and twilight throughout the mess of strands, only to far more expose the delicate, sharp angles of her features.
The edge of a brush was nibbled upon as she looked around the empty classroom where Windsor allowed for new artists to host classes for college and high school students. Even as empty as the room save for her own soul, the painter couldn?t help but feel as if she was being watched.
The thick presence of another was unshakeable and almost reminded her of that night so long ago when Shaw had first stepped into her life. This feeling though was different, unique and strange and tainted with the Dark Man?s ink as much as Chela was touched by the same possessive ink of the Dark Man?s touch. The onyx and sapphire bond of her dark eyes lifted and searched the empty room as she paused, wondering.
The question remained thick and dark within her. Had this been what the Dark Man meant?
Usually Chela was only present in the gallery to drop off the recent collection for the Dark Man. A go between place for the Dark Man to gather the souls he sent Chela out to claim, but the letter she received that morning demanded another obligation.
Chela had no choice but even if she had she would have taken up the opportunity as she had missed the Art. She had missed more then anything the opportunity to find the calm within the chaos.
To take up the brush again over a weapon was an odd gift, but a gift nonetheless. Which left her to wonder again what purpose and intent this all had. There was something that the Dark Man had planned, she believed that more then anything.
Brows furrowed as she paused before the blank canvas, taking a step back as fingers tangled into the blue-black of her hair and pulled it into a messy ponytail. The withdraw of those crow black feathers caught the dim light and shifted colors of shadows and twilight throughout the mess of strands, only to far more expose the delicate, sharp angles of her features.
The edge of a brush was nibbled upon as she looked around the empty classroom where Windsor allowed for new artists to host classes for college and high school students. Even as empty as the room save for her own soul, the painter couldn?t help but feel as if she was being watched.
The thick presence of another was unshakeable and almost reminded her of that night so long ago when Shaw had first stepped into her life. This feeling though was different, unique and strange and tainted with the Dark Man?s ink as much as Chela was touched by the same possessive ink of the Dark Man?s touch. The onyx and sapphire bond of her dark eyes lifted and searched the empty room as she paused, wondering.
The question remained thick and dark within her. Had this been what the Dark Man meant?