Under The Blood-Red Maple

The story they all clamor for paves the gateway to hell.

It’s not the brushstrokes, composition, or her brilliant use of light and color. It’s not the agonies underlying the paint or the dream of revealing something both momentous and simple with the sweep of the brush.

It’s just the damn story.

They all clamor for it, but every time Leigh is obliged to tell it, it wears away a little piece of her soul.

Soon she will be soulless.

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