𝐵𝑇𝑆 𝐼𝑀𝐴𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆

𝑝.𝑗𝑚/ 𝑎 𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑝𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑦/ 𝐼

//sculptor y/n au requested by @lilacmingi . thank you so much for being the first person to ever request. if y'all don't know, she has a really successful series of bts imagines . they're short, sweet, and well organized. you should definitely check them out.//

"Damn you," you muttered, throwing the clay onto the newspapered table.

"Damn you," you repeated slightly louder, palms bearing forcefully into the ivory chunk. You leaned into the motion, flattening it before rolling it back and pressing down again. You halved it with a clay cutter, slapping one of the pieces into its counterpart.

"Damn- goddamnit," you grumbled as it nearly rolled off the table. "I can't do anything right."

Your workstation was littered with busts and figurines of the same beady-eyed man. Some had captured his likeness with a perfect eye. His high nose. His lanky figure. His round, pebble-like eyes. Those that had been painted bore a wide range of vivid, regal color schemes.

Deep, royal violets were complimented by flaming crimsons and lustrous marigolds. His cheeks had been speckled with spots of green, orange, indigo, magenta, every color you had felt. Your mind was a transparent, wailing sphere that held every distorted hue in a stranglehold and refused to let go.

Every glass thorn guarding your sphere had been trampled, the shards not even penetrating the soles of his shoes as he crushed them. The tinkling of the glass was delicate, but it dripped through your ears like acid, singeing their insides whenever his voice trickled out the veins of your serenity.

He was vile.

And you were vile for loving him still.

You glared tearfully at the small lump of clay you had been beating. It was already bearing resemblance to the plethora of busts and figurines that were strewn across the room. It had already taken a likeness to him, and you hated it. You despised the way his sickening honey had seeped into your art. Your art was your other self. You were your art. You weren't a lying bastard.

Men, men, men, everywhere you looked. The same black eyes. The same high nose. The same sharp, angular face. You were sick of it.

You know what? You thought. I'm not going to do this anymore. I'm going give myself something better.

You began with the face. His eyes wouldn't be menacing. Whenever you had looked at his eyes, they had been blank. The eyes you carved would be hooded and sweet, as though he was too kind to cause any sort of harm. His lips would be plump and smooth, and his cheeks would be round and soft.

You decided he'd be somewhat feminine in nature. He had never taken femininity seriously. His ego was too frail to for him to be able to appreciate anything girlish.

You finished planning out the head and moved on to the body. As you began molding the rough forms of his torso and limbs, you began to feel a fog move through you in layers.

Your eyes became moist, lids taking longer to open every time you closed them. Your movements began dragging, as though your wrists were bound to the ceiling and floor. Your thoughts ran in lines through the fog, but you couldn't read them. They seemed to be in some sort of illegible code.

They gradually began to slow, now gliding through the thickening mist like wooden ships in an old pirate film. They blinked in and out of sight before disappearing entirely. In that instant, your remaining comprehensive ability dropped into your stomach, and you slumped into the table.

You felt an icy pain snap through your skull, and then nothing.

☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎

You opened your eyes, blinking before slowly lifting your cheek off the scratchy surface it laid upon. You looked down. It was a newspaper.

What the hell?

You looked around, glancing at the room's features.

Did I really fall asleep at my work table? Wait-. You immediately sat up straight, looking to your side. The clay would have dried out.

As you locked eyes with the figurine, you stiffened. It hadn't dried out, it was- finished?

The body of the man had been completed, and clothes had been painted on. He was wearing a button down shirt the color of a peanut shell, and a rust-colored blazer. His features were formed in incredible detail, and his hair had been meticulously textured. The entire figurine had been painted and varnished, and it was almost unnaturally reflective.

You couldn't move. You didn't understand what you were looking at.

Did I finish it while I was asleep? Or maybe I did it in the middle of the night and just don't remember?

But you knew neither of those explanations were plausible. It wasn't like this could have been some sort of prank either. You lived alone.

Something was terribly wrong.

☀︎︎yes, i will post a second part. don't you worry (slides unfinished drafts under my bed). i'm sorry for disappearing again, i haven't been doing well mentally. it's difficult to write when it feels like i'm so low on energy all the time.☀︎︎

☀︎︎are you interested in any type of art? if so, what do you enjoy about it? if not, what's a hobby of yours?☀︎︎