What to paint

Chapter 3

You sat in your room. Painting a vase of flowers. They rested on your windowsill. The burning red contrasted the pale blue and gray snow. The windows were covered with frost, yet you could make out the faintest shadow of the snowy plants outside.
You set the brush down. It rolled across the desk. A thin line of blue paint trailed after it. You looked blankly at the flowers. You turned your head across the room. The pile of canvases was large. You wondered why you had so many. You couldn't remember painting any of them. It angered you.
An unexplainable rage had overcome you. Your fingers gripped the frame of a canvas harshly. You knew and remembered none of them. You had no context. You took hold of one. A man dressed in pale colors, a mask covering half of his face. You chucked it at a wall. When the frame held firm you grabbed it again. You slammed the side against the wall. The wood splintered and cracked. You did it again.
The frame broke, splintered, it dug into your hands, and blood leaked from your hands. You did it again. You forced the wooden frame against the wall. When the picture remained intact, you stabbed it. Unknowingly you had taken hold of a once long forgotten and lost pair of scissors. You stabbed and slashed the painting.
Two arms pulled you back. You had screamed at one point. A small crowd of maids stood at the door as two maids pulled you away from the canvas. They clawed at your hand holding the blade. They wrestled you pulling and prying. They pleaded with you to let go of the blade you had forgotten that you held.
Your second memory formed not too long later.
You had stumbled into a meeting accidentally. The table of people glanced at you before continuing. Only a couple questioned your appearance and the confidentiality of the meeting. They were waved off by the woman at the head of the table. She had you sit beside her. You drew the people at the meeting. The gown the goddess was wearing. When the meeting was over the strangers left and the goddess stood. She said a name.
"Scaramouche."
And that was your second memory. The man with the large hat walking towards you.