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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: star - mitski
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In the halcyon borders of her lodge room, Marianna James stands before her canvas, her brush poised with a concentration that echoes through the chamber. Each stroke carries with it a deep strain, as if her very soul is woven into the textile of the landscape.
Unlike other artists who meticulously plan each detail, Marianna's process is an enigma unto itself. There's no predetermined image etched in her mind; instead, her hand moves instinctively, guided by the whispers of the unseen and the echoes of all the restless spirit.
Through the window, the soft light of the Birmingham moon spills into the room, casting a gentle glow upon her work. It's a scene of a wedding, perhaps, or something akin to it—a tableau that has taken shape gradually since her arrival.
There are no preliminary sketches, no outlines to guide her hand. Each brushstroke is a leap of faith, a surrender to the unknown. Yet, there's a certainty in her movements, a conviction that belies the chaos within. With each stroke, the image unfolds before her, a manifestation of her innermost desires and fears.
A heavy sigh escapes his lips, lingering in the air like a ghost, as Louis Dormer strides into the room, weariness etched into every line of his face. His eyes settle upon the woman ensconced in her own private universe. Her presence seems to cast a spell, enveloping the room in a palpable aura of mystery and intrigue.
The heavy thud of Louis' footsteps reverberated through the room, prompting Marianna to tense instinctively. With a swift motion, she cast aside her paintbrush and reached for a revolver, her senses on high alert. But as her eyes met Louis', recognition washed over her, easing the tension from her frame.
"Louis, you nearly gave me a heart attack." She exclaimed, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she lowered the gun to the table and discreetly covered it with a cloth.
Louis chuckled; his exhaustion evident in every weary line of his face. "Sorry, my dear, didn't mean to startle you. Just another tiresome day in the city, you know how it is."
"Tell me about it," she nodded sympathetically, her voice soft with concern, all attention fully on him now. "You look like you've been through the wringer."
"Oh, you have no idea. The demands of the foundation and business seem never-ending." Louis sighed heavily, sinking into a nearby chair.
"Hm, and what of the payments for the artworks that were sold in London and the ones at the countryside, eh?" She inquired, her voice tinged with soft uneasiness.
