Artemisia
I don’t think that a scale from one to ten would suffice.
The next day, I’m back at my favourite painting spot, just painting my embarrassment and pain from my soul while Cassy keeps making me want to tear her out of my body with my own hands.
‘See, a little bit more effort and he could be ours,’ she purrs, constantly propagating the same message. ‘We could be Luna.’
“I don’t want to be a Luna,” I murmur, as I slap another load of paint onto the wall.
Right, I would need a higher scale.
Like one to a hundred.
Or a thousand.
After I finished the discussion and kept having flashbacks about the likely most embarrassing scene I have ever pulled in my entire life, I just wanted to drown in my own self-pity.
The worst thing about this entire situation was that I start
