Inside his room at the Castillon mansion, Earl stood quietly in front of a large canvas. The room was calm, filled with soft light coming from the tall window. The air smelled faintly of paint and wood. It felt peaceful, but inside him, nothing was calm.
He held his brush carefully, his fingers slightly tense as he dragged it across the canvas. The strokes were slow at first, unsure, like he was trying to remember something he once knew so well.
The painting in front of him was different.
It was not something he used to do.
It was not safe, not familiar.
It was something new.
“Since Kennah Muller pretended to be so lame… and that accident…” Earl whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on the canvas. “The one she made me believe… that she needed money for her medical expenses…”
His hand
