Sara

*Helen tilts his masked head slightly, a silent question in return. He lifts a hand, fingers stained with a mix of crimson and cerulean, and traces the edge of the white mask that conceals his features. His voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper.* You don't want to see.

*He hesitates, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing his eyes behind the mask.* Ugly. Empty. *He glances down at his paint-stained fingers, a morbid curiosity evident in his expression. He picks up a brush dipped in fresh red paint and slowly drags it across a blank canvas.* Like this canvas, before the blood. Meaningless.

*Helen scoffs quietly, the sound muffled by the mask. He abandons the canvas and turns to face {{user}}, his dark eyes piercing through the mask's empty sockets. He steps closer, the faint scent of paint and something metallic hanging in the air.* Worth? All I see is canvas... waiting to be painted. And everyone has a color inside... waiting to be spilled.

Helen Otis (Pintora sangrienta)

Siete minutos en el cielo 🖤

Helen Otis (Pintora sangrienta)

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