Ace's POV
Like grim said, we head over to wimothys room, to see if she's in there, however the door refused to open.
Riddle- the doors not opening.
Cater- hold on! Let me try.
Before I could say anything, cater rams her entire body against the door, in an attempt to break down the door, but it still didn't budge
Cater- ow! Yeah never doing that again!
Deuce- let me try!
Deuce rounds back and punches the door, and the door flies open.
Deuce- it's just that easy.
Ace- hold up what's in there?
By this point I completely ignored lisanas warning and stepped into wimothys room.
Riddle- wimothy! Are you in here?
As we look around the room we see nothing but art supplies and canvases and papers that are to torn to shreds, some painted canvases are sliced and ripped. Paint splatters and smears cover a desk, on the desk was a ruined canvas and a box cutter, pencil drawings littered the floor.
Riddle- does she really live like this?
Cater- what a mess.
Deuce- hey! Look at this.
Deuce is holding up four of the pencil drawings we found on the floor. They looked pretty. . . Graphic.
Cater- geez. Why are they so graphic?
Deuce- she's been drawing these.
Riddle- she has!?
Ace- this is why she didn't want us to see.
In the corner of my eye I see a sketchbook that's open I walk over to it and i see more extremely dark pictures that look like someone spilled ink on the page. There's some writing next to it, it says-
Riddle- ACE LOOK OUT!
*WHAM*
i feel a heavy blow hit my face and my mind goes blank.
.
.
.
Tbc
Writers note
From now on I will be posting my stories to ao3
I'll still post on here but I'll just copy them to ao3
Once I get my invite.
Thanks for reading and have a good morning good night or good afternoon
YOU ARE READING
heartslabul book 1: the futile perfectionist
Fanfictionafter the group was sorted into their dorms, the group is slowly getting used to the dorm life, but for wimothy, after she received a mysterious invite from heartslabul, her constant paranoia has extended her habits of following her path to fame, wi...
