Page 11 of The Art of Obsession
She jerks open the door closer to the stairs…and freezes.
Five seconds.
Everleigh faces the closet as the time winds down. Her shoulders curl as I draw closer, but she doesn’t burst inside and try the door. She doesn’t plunge beyond the coats and huddle into a little ball, hoping for safety in the darkness.
Her breathing is shallow, and I can see the rise and fall of her chest. She knows I’m right behind her. She can feel me here, a shadow at her back, the weight of my presence pressing into her like a second skin. “Time’s up, Everleigh.”
Instead of bolting, she turns.
Tears glisten in her eyes, and the blood has drained from her face, leaving her pale and trembling. Yet her gray eyes burn, like molten silver catching fire, not with a mere will to survive but with apassionto live. A passion I will coax, twist, and pull until it’s a thread I can weave into my design.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cower. Her lips press together, trembling, but her gaze holds mine like a challenge. And a subtle lift of her chin.
Perfect.
The masterpiece isn’t the canvas, the pigment, or the colors—it’s the alchemy of what they become together. And she, my Little Quill, is about to become the most exquisite transformation of all.
Because I am not her hero. I am not even her villain.
I am the artist of her every dream and nightmare.
I am her creator.
5
“Look how beautifully you’ve begun to take shape under my hand.”
Chapter Playlist:
“Get Out Alive” – Three Days Grace
“Jaws” – Sleep Token
“Euclid” – Sleep Token
“Aqua Regia” – Sleep Token
EVERLEIGH
Maybe I do havea death wish.
Because it doesn’t seem to matter what he said before about “tenfold”. As I gaze up at his bloody mask, I fantasize about drawing real blood.
That could be kinky,Cherry chirps.
Do you ever stop?I groan.
Hey, you boring historian, I’m just the sexier survival side of your brain coping with the immediate trauma response of being trapped with a deranged artist by redirecting fight-or-flight into fight-and-flirt,she quips, her tone sharp and clinical, far too much like me. But of course…she’s mocking.Your cortisol levels are spiking,so I’m balancing that with a little adrenaline-fueled attraction. It’s basic neurochemical self-preservation.
Self-preservation? You’re imagining bloodplay with a stalker!
Cherry shrugs in my head.Better than freezing up or having a panic attack, isn’t it? Besides, have you seen his shoulders in that suit? And those neck muscles? Peak specimen. If we’re going down, might as well make it memorable.
I wrinkle my nose.You’re the worst coping mechanism ever.
And yet,Cherry hums,you’d be lost without me.
I wish she wasn’t right.
