Drawn to Death

CHAPTER TWO: "Art of Blood"

KASSANDRA. . .

She awakes with a start, the voices growing louder and louder in her mind until she realizes what is happening.

"Kas, you're awake!" Jia walks in her room, carrying a cupful of coffee with her. "Here."

"What-what time is it?"

"Pretty late for you, " Jia sits on the bed next to her, "where did you go last night? I was really worried, you know. Are you okay?"

"That was you," says Kassandra.

"Me what?"

"Last night. You put me to bed."

"What are you talking about? I found you already asleep then came back in the morning to make you breakfast-you're welcome by the way-God, you're super wasted! Drink the coffee, now!"

Kassandra takes a sip, wondering how drunk she was.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," Jia says.

Kassandra frowns. She hates it when people pity her. "It's fine."

Jia then leaves to go prepare a cake for her niece's birthday after Kassandra insists that she is okay by herself.

Eating one of Jia's muffins, scrolling through the socials, trying to ignore how little recognition her work has been receiving online, Kassandra comes across an Instagram reel from a certain artist, showcasing their work that is getting enough attention to eclipse all Kassandra has ever done. She looks at the artist's work, getting a feeling of wishing she was in their place, getting all the love and glory, the applause, the fans-all of it.

She is about to scroll away but stops after spotting the face of one Victor Matthews. What was her agent doing promoting another artist?

Anger then begins to swell within her and she tosses the phone aside, letting it slide all the way to the other side of the kitchen counter before stopping next to a silvery pen.

"I thought I got rid of this," she says to herself, picking up the pen, then she gets that alluring feeling just like last time as she looks at the pen.

It's silvery surface gives off a hypnotic effect, entrancing her, similar to how she stares at herself in the mirror, instead this time, she does not see herself but rather crowds of people-fans-applauding her work. There are so many, Kassandra assumes they may be commending another artist. But it is her. She can even faintly catch the shouts of her name.

"Ow!" Kassandra gasps, rapidly releasing the pen which clatters onto the counter.

Her right hand turns strawberry red, a thin bloody slit forming across her palm. A few drops of blood splatter over the pen.

Kassandra gets up to take a towel and is dabbing her wound when she catches the sound of something scratching. She turns to find the pen falling back to the table as if it has been suspended, instantly sending chills up her spine.

Slowly approaching the table, she finds a word inscribed on it. Inscribed in her blood with shiny scarlet letters spelling out 'D R A W'.

Kassandra's shock maxes out after the pen literally rolls across the table, its tip settling just over the bloodied letters.

She stares at it again, ignoring her bleeding hand and can see flashing images from its crystalline surface. Images of her works of art and the art critique, Madame Delphine, turning her down.

This refuells her anger and Kassandra finally gives in to the pen's compulsive allure. She feels like she just needs to draw something. It is like a hunger unlike any other.

She is about to rush to her art room to go pick up her tools but something stops her, edging her closer to the pen on the counter. She picks it up, her reflection much more vivid now, almost as if it is telling her what she needs to do.

This is how she will finally get recognized. She will be on everyone's mind from this moment on. She just knows it.

By the time Kassandra is done with those compelling thoughts, she discovers she has just sketched out a rather gory depiction of a person's outline with its head decapitated and blood is oozing out from the stump like a fountain.

The pen's ink is so surreal that Kassandra cannot tell whether it is real blood or not. She soon uploads her work and ends up raking over a million likes instantly.

This would only be the beginning.

Later that afternoon, in Beverly Hills, Madame Delphine has just taken a shower and is drying her hair when she thinks she's heard someone whisper in her ear but suspends it, looking over her shoulder and to the open windows, assuming it is just the breeze.

She turns to face the mirror and lets out a yelp after seeing a ghastly figure standing right behind her.

She turns again but the figure is gone. She turns back to face the mirror and all she can see is herself. She turns yet again, for good measure. Still nothing.

Why is she suddenly imagining things?

She never gets the answer to that as she reverts to her reflection when suddenly, the mirror shatters and two arms lunge out at her, grasping her neck. Delphine tries to scream but it comes out as a faint squeak, following the sickening sound of her neck being snapped then the arms withdraw, slicing her head clean off of her body with a shard of glass from the broken mirror. The arms then vanish behind what has been left of the mirror.

The art critique's body hits the ground next to its decapitated head, with the eyes glazed and lifeless, staring into the void that is death.

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New chapters return Tuesday, Oct 18.

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