Katarina--Violet Eyes

Violet Eyes

            Morana walked into her art studio, eyeing the canvas sitting in the middle of the room. She smiled, it had finally dried. Yet the artist eyed the over sized painting, overjoyed about it—but something was unsettling about it, she just didn't know what. She examined the painting, as if she were to find something wrong. However nothing seemed to be wrong; the brown and pale colored strokes had blended together perfectly, the image had come out perfectly – still – nothing out of place on the painting. The painting had portrayed a woman, ebony black hair that had swung behind her back, and skin as pale as a blanket of snow. The woman's piercing eyes stood out among everything else in the painting-an electric violet.

            Shaking herself out of her daze, she hung the painting up along with the others, blending into the monotonic artworks on the wall. She backed away from it, still staring at it, waiting for that off thing to pop out at her. Stop it Morana, it's just another dumb painting, she spoke to herself. She turned and walked away, but something soon stopped her.

            The sound of a piano key had played throughout the small room. The piano in the corner of her art studio was the root of the sound, walking towards it, she saw the piano string still vibrating. The confusion bounced around her head, turning around the room several times before looking at her most recent painting and seeing that the woman had disappeared. Her eyes widened, running towards the painting looking as if she had just seen strange things—but no, the woman was really gone from the canvas. Her raven black hair, pale skin, piercing eyes; all gone from the canvas.

            Morana looked at near paintings and found another one of her paintings, a dog and the woman with the violet eyes sharing a canvas.

She didn't recall painting her there.

            The position of the woman was different, she had a sly smirk – her violet eyes staring into her as if they were mocking her somehow. The artist didn't know what else to do but turn away, then hearing another piano key play, and turned towards the wall another time—the violet eyed woman had moved again.

            This time, she was in a painting sitting beside a French man with happy wrinkles on his face as he read the newspaper. However, Morana hadn't painted the man with a happy smile on his face. She closed her eyes and walked towards a mirror in the corner of the studio. The artist didn't want to open her eyes, but she did, but she wished it wasn't what she was seeing now. However, she still opened her eyes. There before her eyes was herself, her black hair, her pale skin, and the violet eyes. Before she could realize that she was the woman with the violet eyes—the same piano note played again, and abruptly her whole world washed to black.