Page 67 of Stalker's Toy

But then a flash of memory intrudes—the smell of smoke, the heat of flames licking at my skin.

I flinch, my hand tightening around my glass.

Emma notices, her brow furrowing with concern. "You okay?"

I nod, forcing another smile. "Yeah, just... lost in thought for a moment."

James leans in, his voice lowering. "Is it true what they say? About your work being inspired by... personal experience?"

I freeze, feeling exposed.

How much do they know?

How much should I reveal?

"I... draw from many sources," I say carefully. "But yes, some of it comes from personal experience."

Emma's eyes soften with sympathy. "It must be difficult, channeling that kind of pain into art."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "It's... necessary. Art is how I make sense of the world. Of myself."

James nods solemnly. "I get that. Sometimes it feels like the only way to exorcise our demons is to give them form."

His words hit close to home, and I feel a sudden kinship with these fellow artists.

They may not know the specifics of my past, but they understand the drive to create, to transform pain into something meaningful.

"Exactly," I say softly. "It's... cathartic. Even when it hurts."

Emma raises her glass again. "To art as therapy, then. And to new collaborations."

As we toast, I feel a mix of emotions swirling within me.

Relief at their acceptance, excitement for the show, and a lingering unease about what's to come.

But for now, I push those worries aside, allowing myself to bask in this momentof connection.

The conversation flows more easily after that, as we discuss our various projects and inspirations.

I find myself opening up more than I usually would, sharing snippets of my creative process and the themes that haunt my work.

"I'm fascinated by the interplay of light and shadow," I explain, gesturing with my hands as I speak. "The way darkness can consume everything, but also how a single point of light can pierce through it all."

James nods enthusiastically. "That comes through so clearly in your charcoal work. The contrast is... striking."

Emma leans in, her eyes bright with interest. "And the recurring motif of fire in your pieces—it's both destructive and transformative. Is that intentional?"

I swallow hard, feeling exposed once again.

"Yes," I say softly. "Fire... it changes everything it touches. Destroys and purifies in equal measure."

They exchange a look, sensing the weight behind my words.

But mercifully, they don't press further.

Instead, James steers the conversation back to the upcoming show. "So, what kind of space are we working with? And how immersive are we talking?"

Grateful for the change of subject, I launch into a description of Henrik's vision. "The venue is this old,abandoned warehouse that was turned into a gallery. Lots of open space, high ceilings."

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