꧁𝐶𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑎𝑠꧂ {Artistic MK & Red Son} (QueerPlatonic Yandere)

Statue

A/N: All the chapters, are connected
but not in the exact order. It's gonna be absolutely confusing, I know. But this book is sort of an experiment.

Feel free to comment down your theories, or any assumptions on which the chronological order:v

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Papers flew and scattered with the winds, some were coiled and damaged, with forced rips, in each corner.

A few, were unrecognizable, beyond repair but there was a single paper, that still had some form of writing, even if it be fainted by time's cruelty

But, was cast aside, not even having a chance to see what was written or even printed there.

It, flew through the breeze, of the sand, picking a few dust and dirt.

Only a single piece of paper flew through the cracks of a torn-down place, It was what remained of a warehouse, the material, already succumbing to old age, with the roof, having rust and punctured holes that let natural sun or moonlight inside.

The door was chained off with chains, the original owner never wanted any trespasser nor wanted any windows.

The paper flew inside, slid through the unpolished floor, and landed underneath a fine art piece.

Two statues were found inside an abandoned warehouse, The statues, in question were thickly coated with dust, and littered with cobwebs from being kept in this place for so long, yet no molds were shown.

It had aged well, considering the deadly heat of the desert, and the buckets of salt, being toppled all over the tables, that were infested with termites and scattered all about.

The statue, looked delicate, like the faintest of touch could break the statue, Those curious one-goers that dared to break in, or those who stumbled across, by accident or by fate, were mesmerized, but it was respectful enough to, not dare touch or caress the art piece.

The main question was, what was the statue, even made out?

A few guesses would be quartz on how fair and enchanting it was.

Perhaps, It was porcelain, due to how smooth, it looked but was filled with details.

Or, marble due to how it told a story?

Even the long hair, the other statue had, was elongated, each strand was sculpted and perfected, to be elegant, making it look like, it flow through the wind and was soft to run your fingers to.

It was a trick of the eye, but the other statue's hair somehow had a light tint of rose.

The statue, posed in such an intimate position, faces just inches away from each other and are titled, in the opposite direction. One head by the right, and the other vice versa.

Their eyes, softly gazing into each other with longing, but one looked more desperate than the other but was hardly noticed.

Like a kiss.

Almost close to locking lips, with one another, but could never be able to taste such finery. It could be, that the other hesitated, or must have lacked time, to do so.

The detail, that wasn't subtle, was the hands, one of the hardest parts of an Artist to Master.

The hand was far too detailed.
It seemed the hand was gripping, tightly on the other statue's body; arms desperately wrapped around their waist and nails clawed to the back, noticed by how the statue's clothes 'wrinkled' or, mimicked wrinkle.

As if, afraid-That the gentlest of winds can pull the two apart, never to be seen again and away from their companion's grasp.

Whoever created the statue, was gifted to mimic grips on flesh, by the use of 'marble'

The walls were stained with soot, a byproduct of burnt wood, with ashes on the corner.

People, who found the art piece by shimmering inside the cracks, could never take a picture or snap a photo of it, It was always blurry, or just plain golden yellow or cherry red, like the flash, wasn't blocking the photo, with ashes covering the lens on numerous of occasion.

So some resorted, to painting the statue.
Or, capture it using words to compile into documentaries and books.
Or, trying to sketch the statues.

But could never replicate the true beauty, of the statues.

Those who see both statues, the same statues whose bodies that were molded together, together until the sands of time, would describe, them using different interpretations.

Some would say lovers that died in tragic circumstances

Some called them companions, that cared for each other deeply.

It didn't matter which tale, was true or not.

It didn't matter, what people describe them.

Labels didn't matter.

He didn't care about the label

He-They, Were just happy, to finally embrace each other for all eternity.

To be, eternally trapped in each other's arms, only looking at each other's gazes.