“Ash…”

The Artist

The brush strokes are genius.

An act of genius.

An act.

Not an act.

But an Act.

Action.

Discernment.

Pride.

An act of discerning pride in another.

Not the other.

But

An

Other.

Your soul mate.

Your soul.

But she’s blind

so she doesn’t know.

She’s been blinded

by that pride.

Their pride.

Not the Pride

that she has,

the Pride of a Lion.

But the pride of vengeance for the Pride she shown

At the first breath…

She never had a chance.

We never had a chance, dear.

Not a chance.

Not a godforsaken chance.

Not even you, the Artist, can save us from this one.

The Artist.

I love you.

And I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

The Artist.