There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

It makes me love this painting all the more.
My work was never self-referential. I kept my memories stuffed down inside
me. I didn’t mine them for material—I couldn’t look at them at all.
It was Cole who picked at the lock, finally forcing me to crack it open.
Like Pandora’s box, all the evil and ugliness came pouring out.
I thought it would kill me.
Instead, I pulled a splinter from my chest and a whole goddamn stake came
out. I’m bleeding, but maybe now I’ll finally heal.
Painting these scenes doesn’t depress me. It feels like catharsis, like therapy.
Once I have it down on canvas, the memory lives outside of me. Where I can
view it when I want, but it no longer festers, poisoning me from the inside.
The paintings are so much better than anything I made before. They’re dark
and compelling. They pull you in. You stare and stare, a kaleidoscope of
emotions turning before your eyes. Each angle a new image.
I’m proud of them.
I’m proud of myself.
I never would have gotten here without Cole. Not to the studio, the shows, or
even the point of putting brush to canvas with this fount of inspiration
surging through me.
Cole says that I light him up, that I fill him with energy.
Well, the same is true for me.
His dark power surges through me: strong, persuasive, compelling. You can’t
deny Cole what he wants. And you can’t deny me, either. Not anymore.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my overalls.
I pull it out, feeling a leap of excitement at the sight of Cole’s name, even
though he’s only been gone an hour.
“What did they say?” I cry, by way of greeting.