Chapter Eleven:Muse
1181 Words
She made it halfway up the stairs before she heard footsteps behind her.
"I know you're following me, Sebastian."
"I'm not following. We're walking in the same direction."
"My room is this way. Yours isn't."
"Maybe I'm lost."
She Turned.
He was three steps below her. Looking up. Face unreadable as always. But something in his posture was different.
"What do you want?"
"You're upset."
"Brilliant observation."
"Damien has that effect on people."
"Does he have that effect on you?"
Sebastian considered the question. "No. But I'm not like other people."
"Yeah. I noticed."
She turned to keep walking. He followed.
"What did you feel? When he was standing that close to you?"
She stopped again. "What?"
"Damien. When he was in your space. Your heart rate increased. Your pupils dilated. Your hands were shaking but you didn't step back." He tilted his head. "What did you feel?"
"Are you seriously asking me that right now?"
"Yes."
"It's none of your business."
"Most things aren't. I ask anyway."
She stared at him. He stared back. Patient. Like he could wait forever.
"I felt angry."
"Just angry?"
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"I'm not—"
"Your pulse jumped when you said it. Tension in your jaw." He climbed one step closer. "You felt something else. Something you don't want to name."
"You're insane."
"Probably." He climbed another step. Now they were level. Eye to eye. "But I'm also right."
She didn't have a response for that.
He studied her face. That same intense stare.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"Come with me. I want to show you something."
"It's late. I'm tired. I'm not—"
"You're not tired. You're wired , we both know you wont be able to sleep ." He turned and started walking down the hall. "Come."
She should go to her room. Lock the door. Process everything that just happened but she decided to followed him.
His room wasn't where she expected.
Not in the main wing with Damien and Elijah. He led her past the family rooms, down a corridor she hadn't explored, up a narrow staircase she hadn't noticed.
The door at the top was black. No handle visible. He pressed his palm against a panel and it clicked open.
"Fingerprint lock?"
"I value privacy."
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Katherine hesitated on the threshold.
The room was large. Larger than hers. But it didn't feel like a bedroom. It felt like a studio. An asylum.
Canvases everywhere. On easels. Stacked against walls. Hanging from the ceiling on thin wires. Some finished. Some half-done. Some just sketches.
All of them disturbing.
A woman with no face, hands reaching out of where her mouth should be. A child standing in a field of flowers that, on closer inspection, were all bones. A house on fire, but the flames were people, twisted and screaming.
Katherine's stomach turned.
"You paint."
"I create."
"These are..."
"Honest." He moved through the room, touching canvases as he passed. Gentle.. "People lie with words. They lie with expressions. They lie with their bodies. But art doesn't lie. Art shows what's underneath."
"What's underneath for you?"
He looked at her over his shoulder. Almost smiled.
"Darkness. Obviously."
She should leave. This was too much. He was too much.
She walked further into the room.
The paintings seemed to shift as she moved. Eyes following her. Shapes rearranging themselves. It was just the lighting—dim, uneven, coming from candles scattered across surfaces—but it felt intentional. Like he'd designed the space to unsettle.
"You're not scared."
"Should I be?"
He picked up a brush. Rolled it between his fingers. "Elijah won't come in here. Says it gives him nightmares. Damien came once. Looked around. Left. Never mentioned it again."
"And you're showing me because?"
She moved deeper into the room. Past a canvas of a man drowning in a sea of hands. Past a woman whose tears were razorblades. Past—
She stopped.
Her breath caught.
It was her.
On a canvas propped against the far wall. Her face. Her hair. Her eyes.
But not quite right.
The Katherine in the painting was angry. Furious. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and there was something feral in her expression. Something wild. Her mouth was open like she was screaming, but no sound came out. Instead, flowers were spilling from her lips—dark flowers,
It was beautiful. It was her and not her at the same time.
"When did you paint this?"
"Started the night you arrived. Finished it last week."
"I never posed for this."
"You didn't need to. I remember faces."
She couldn't look away from it. From herself. From this version of herself she didn't recognize.
"Why am I angry? In the painting?"
"Because you are angry.." He came to stand beside her. Close but not touching. "You're furious. At your mother for bringing you here. At us for how we've treated you. At yourself for—" He paused. "Other things."
"What other things?"
"You know what things."
Oh he meant the kiss with Elijah , if only they knew how far they had gone.
"I'm not angry about that."
"The flowers are purple."
"So?"
"Purple for shame. For wanting something you think you shouldn't want." He looked at her. "The painting doesn't lie, Katherine. Even if you do."
She tore her eyes away from the canvas. Looked at him.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you asked what I want from you." He turned to face her fully. "I want to understand you. I want to paint you again—different versions. Every emotion. I want to see all of it."
"That's..."
"Obsessive. Yes. I'm aware." He didn't seem bothered by the admission. "You're my new muse. I haven't had one in years. The last one—" He stopped. Something flickered across his face. "She didn't work out."
"What happened to her?"
"That's not a story for tonight."
A chill ran down her spine.
"Sebastian."
"Yes?"
"You're weird . You know that, right?"
"I've been told."
"And you don't care?"
"Should I?"
"Normal people would."
"I think we've established I'm not normal." He walked back toward the door. "You should go to sleep now.
"I can't sleep after—" She gestured at the paintings. At her own face staring back at her. "After THIS."
"Then don't sleep. He opened the door.
He waited.
She walked toward the door. Stopped beside him.
"The painting. Can I have it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's mine. You're mine. For now." He said it simply.. "When I'm done with you as a muse, maybe. But not yet."
"I'm not YOURS."
"Your face is. Your expressions. The way you move and react,." He reached out. Touched a strand of her hair gently . "I own those now. I've captured them. They live in my paintings forever."
"You're insane."
"You've said that already."
"It needs repeating."
Something almost like a smile crossed his face. "Goodnight, Katherine
Author note : Sebastian is weird guys Lmaoo,but my favorite character,who is yours?
- Writer
