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Saturday, November 15, 2014

Canvas

He lifts his hands, delicately touching all the markings he made. All the dotted lines and all the reds - mere drafts to what was next. The young Adonis is smiling now, his divine hand reaching over to the left for his instrument. Then he touches her again - his canvas. Dear God, her skin feels exquisite. Her ivory skin is just begging to be colored. Don't worry. It won't be long now.

He removes the handkerchief from her mouth. He touches her jaw. Perfect. Beautiful pink marks were formed. This would be great to start the theme.

Her eyes shining with unshed tears, she asks, "Why are you doing this?"

The innocent mademoiselle, he chuckles. She possesses such naivete. He wipes her face with the handkerchief.

"Of course, it's because I love you."

And the scalpel touches the flesh.


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