Petals of blood circle the crown

Of a grinning corpse

Rotting away in an abandoned yard

Visited only by the Sky’s Mistress

~

“Is there a reason you’re touching my face?”

Full red lips fold into a pout as Zāne’s best friend retracts her hands. “Sorry; my husband’s just doing that no shaving thing and I need a smooth chin in my life.” The tall blonde stomps frustratedly when Zāne snorts, “I’m serious! He’s giving me a rash!!!”

“Maybe you’re just allergic?”

As the two playfully bicker in a corner, a dark-skinned man approaches them from the entrance. He’s dressed in a pair of shiny shoes and a pretty silver suit. He bows slightly after he reaches them, “Thanks to you for sharing your wonderful works with us tonight, Miss Foreboding. They were a wonderful way to be reminding us all to enjoy life while we can.” His thick accent is in every word but not even his slight fumbles with grammar cost him meaning.

Zāne smiles and bows back, “Happy to be of help. Always. Let me know if you want me to come by again.”

The event host nods with a smile, hands them a card, and promises to be in touch. The artist grins after he leaves, cheering at securing this fresh client. The friend is simply amused, “I’d say let’s celebrate, but we’re both a little too full.”

“We can always watch some horror movies!” the artist suggests excitedly.

The blonde blanches, obviously not as enthused. She eventually nods, however, and links her arm with her small friend, “Fine! But only because I know it gives you good ideas; and, as your manager, I need you to have good ideas.”

The painter laughs, “Sure, Celia.”

As the two step out of their new client’s building, the blonde adds, “You’re also my human shield for the night!” Her eyes are shifty as she explains, “In case one of your future ideas tries to kill me.”

Zāne bursts into laughter, the alto peels echoing down the streets.

The sounds are silenced by the manager smacking the artist on the shoulder.

~

“Well?”

Green eyes smile warmly at Fihr, “It was being a success!” The brothers cheer as laughter echoes outside, their grins wide and bright. The older of the two is embraced tightly by the younger and thanked repeatedly. The silver suited man, however, just hushes his brother.

Having none of that, Fihr grabs the elder’s arm and tugs him towards the lounge, “I insist, Halil; let me thanking you properly.

The older man rolls his eyes but nods and follows. The carver had explained to his brother months prior his desire to work closely with the artist that had so captured his imagination. Of course, his wonderful elder brother immediately took action: researching the local artist and then organizing an event to garner her services.

Now it was just a matter of getting them to talk.

Halil rolls his eyes again as his brother drags him over to the lounge’s fridge. The younger man talks brightly about his favorite painting from Miss Foreboding’s display in their own building and the older brother marvels at how vibrant this stranger makes Fihr.

He hopes it is a good thing: for he knows this could always end badly.

Shaking that thought from his mind, he joins his brother’s recanting by pointing out what he liked, as well. “The one with the little boy was very stun. Something about his expression…”

“The Crying Child?”

“Ah,” the elder nods. “Yes, that being the one. The agony on his face; it was reminding me of our parents.” Halil quickly amends, “Well, of you when we lose them.”

“Hah…” Fihr chuckles as he nods, “Yes… I did cry much, did I.”

“Buckets, brother.” The silver suited man yelps as a chip suddenly whacks his face, “Fihr!”

The stone carver just laughs, “I must remembering to tape your mouth, brother, when I talk to that Miss.”