Beneath The Velvet Sky

Chapter 7 : The Breaking Point

Evelyn remained before the material, her breath shallow, heart hustling. She was unable to tear her eyes from the composition she had made. It was dull. Tumultuous. Upsetting. Be that as it may, it was genuine. Without precedent for her life, she had caught the crude pith of her spirit, stripped away the misrepresentation, the clean, and the misleading account she had gone through years making.

However, at what cost?

Her fingers actually shivered from the brushstrokes, her body weighty with the heaviness of what she had released. The shadows of the studio appeared to surround her as she ventured back, her brain staggering. She had been driven by something base, something outside of her reach, however now that the brush had quit moving, the inquiries started to surface.

What had she become?

Behind her, Lucas' presence lingered like a foreboding shadow. He hadn't spoken in some time, however she could feel his look on her, surveying her, sitting tight for her to grapple with what had recently unfolded.

"You got along nicely," he said discreetly, his voice warm with endorsement, yet some way or another far off. There was no celebratory tone in the most natural sounding way for him — simply a peaceful affirmation that the change had occurred. The last step was finished.

Evelyn needed to talk. She needed to yell, to shout, to ask him how he could remain there, so quiet, so formed, while she felt as though she were suffocating. In any case, no words came. She could remain there, gazing at the artistic creation and feeling the heaviness of all that she had done choosing her shoulders.

She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, consistent and stubborn. She needed to run. She needed to get away from this spot, this man, and the haziness that had been released inside her. However, something inside her — the very part that had pushed her to get the brush, to make the tumult — held her there, moored set up.

"What happens next?" she asked, her voice dry, like the words needed to battle right out of her throat.

Lucas ventured nearer, his developments intentional, estimated. He read up her briefly, and Evelyn couldn't shake the inclination that he was looking directly through her, perusing the profundities of her spirit.

"The world will see this, Evelyn," he said, his tone dull, practically respectful. "They will see who you truly are. This isn't just about you any longer. It's about your craft. Reality you've at long last embraced. This... this is the very thing that will characterize you."

His words sank profound into her chest. They settled there, curving like a bunch, causing her to feel both caught and freed simultaneously. She had gone through her time on earth searching for significance in her work, for a feeling of direction. She had consistently accepted that her specialty would carry her nearer to grasping herself, to figuring out the world. Be that as it may, presently, she saw reality. Workmanship wasn't simply an impression of the world — it was an impression of herself. Furthermore, what she had made was crude, untamed, and alarming. It was all that she had been stowing away from.

Be that as it may, might she at any point really impart it to the world? Might she at any point bear to uncover this more obscure variant of herself, one she had kept concealed for such a long time?

"I don't know I'm prepared for that," she murmured, her hands shudder as she collapsed them before her, reluctant to gaze straight toward him.

Lucas' lips bended into a grin that was unreasonably knowing. "You as of now are, Evelyn. Turning around now is past the point of no return. You've proactively ventured into this new variant of yourself. You simply have to acknowledge it."

She gulped hard, her throat tight.

She wasn't prepared. She wasn't prepared so that the world might see this side of her — this thing she had made. The general concept of individuals seeing her murkiness, her aggravation, her crude feelings, caused her to feel uncovered in a way she had never envisioned. It was one thing to take cover behind unique structures, to cover herself in layers of variety and design. Yet, this? This was something else entirely. This was her spirit uncovered.

Yet, Lucas was correct. It was past the point of no return. She was unable to take it back. She had proactively gone too far.

"I can't return, can I?" she asked delicately, taking a gander at the one who had pushed her to this point.

"No," Lucas answered, his voice cold and last. "You've previously gone excessively far. There's no retreat from here."

The irrevocability in his voice struck her like a blow, and briefly, she felt lightheaded. Her general surroundings appeared to shift, like all that she had at any point known was getting away from her grasp. She needed to shout, to ask for him to take everything back, to let her imagine that absolutely no part of this had at any point occurred. Yet, she realized that was unthinkable.

Instead, she faced him, her eyes searching his for any sign of comfort, any hint that this chaos had a greater purpose.

Yet, there was nothing.

Lucas stood there, indifferent, distant from her emotions. He had created this change, but now that it was done, he seemed to have no need for her. She was just a tool for his dark vision, to be discarded like the others once her purpose was fulfilled.

She didn't know when it worked out — whether it was at the times following his words, or the acknowledgment that she had surrendered herself to the haziness totally — however something inside her broke.

The tears came gradually from the get go, like they were excessively weighty to fall at the same time. Yet, when they began, they didn't stop. She felt the conduits open, and the inclination — rage, dread, pain, disarray — spilled out of her. It was overpowering, all-consuming. The tears obscured her vision, and she cleaned her face with the rear of her hand, not caring any longer the way in which she showed up, how frail she should appear. She didn't know who she was any longer, and that alarmed her.

Lucas didn't move. He just watched her with a cold, calculating expression. He wasn't there to comfort her, only to watch her unravel, to see the last of her break.

Also, Evelyn felt it — that last break. The last slight bit of who she had been before was gone. The one who had once painted lovely, dynamic scenes and representations was just ancient history now. In her place stood another person — somebody molded by dimness, formed by dread.

Her breath hitched, and she was unable to prevent herself from inquiring, "Who am I now?"

Lucas' look relaxed, however just briefly. "You are reality, Evelyn. That's it, nothing less."

His words reverberated to her, enhancing the dread that had proactively flourished. She was reality. Be that as it may, which truth? Reality she had attempted to smother for such a long time? Reality that had lived inside her yet had been covered up, overlooked, and covered underneath long periods of ingenuity? Or on the other hand was there something considerably hazier in her, something that she had just barely started to get it?

The studio appeared to surround her, stifling her. She felt as though she were suffocating, unfit to inhale, caught in her very own labyrinth creation.

"What is it that you expect from me?" she murmured, her voice breaking.

Lucas made a stride nearer, his demeanor disjointed. "What I've for a long time needed, Evelyn. I believe that you should embrace this. I believe that you should make more. A greater amount of this. A greater amount of you."

She shook her head, however maybe her body wasn't her own. She didn't have control any longer. The dim impact Lucas had established inside her was developing further as time passes.

She had to fight, to scream and escape, to return to the light. But she couldn't. The darkness was inside her, a part of her, and it was impossible to overcome.

"I can't," she murmured, the words shudder all the rage. "I can't do this."

"Indeed, you can," Lucas said, his voice cold and steadfast. "You've previously made it happen. Presently, all that is left is to embrace it."

Evelyn shuddered as tears blurred her vision, realizing she had made a choice more uncertain than she'd ever imagined. She had crossed an irreversible line and was now trapped in the twisted reality Lucas had dragged her into, where nothing was safe or as it seemed.

She had painted her own spirit. Also, she couldn't say whether she might at any point live with what she had made.