Blood of A Rose

Blood of A Rose - Part 3

Summary - As (Y/s)'s life blends into Art's, she struggles to keep hold of her sanity with his influence as others continue to test her patience.

Notes - Shit's getting juicy, y'all 🤌🏻 Let me know if you have requests!

Warning(s) - Violence

Song Inspiration -

The Pretty Wild - Sleepwalker

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The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months. As the bond between them grew stronger, so did the resemblance of (Y/n) in the abandoned building the clown called home. And with it, so did she.

With much convincing, Art allowed her to make the bedroom her own safe space for when she spent her time there. With that being said, it also meant that if anyone other than either of themselves entered that room, there was no telling what that somebody would suffer through.

Sure, it wasn't as if it was common for others to wander into the building, and that alone would be a death wish. But anything that invaded what he considered to be her sacred grounds was subject to punishment of the highest degree.

With countless hours of cleaning and rearranging, she was able to finally get rid of the dust and grime, save for a few particularly stubborn spots. And of course, the floors and walls were still rotted and peeling, but after getting a can of paint, roller brushes, and a pan, she figured it would be close enough to decent.

With Art's help, he opened the can of egg-white paint for her and carefully poured it into the pan, happily doing so with a large grin. Once he poured enough for her, he set down the can of paint and straightened himself up.

"What?" (Y/n) asked him innocently when he looked at her mischievously. Then she noticed the hand behind his back. "No." She warned him playfully, holding a finger out to him.

He snatched her wrist and she shrieked as he launched his hand out from behind him, smearing what she assumed was paint onto her face. As the cold substance touched her lips she gagged and kept her lips tightly shut, refusing for it to get into her mouth anymore than it already had.

Meanwhile, the imp that was Art keeled over in silent laughter, slapping his thigh and mocking her gagging as she ran out to the basin in their work area before the paint dried up to clean it off. She dried her face and it flatlined as she glared at Art. He simply shrugged with a half-assed apology written on his face, letting her storm past him back into her room to start painting. 

The experience was peaceful, other than the rocky start and the fumes. Nothing could have prepared her for the fumes. The room wasn't large and the building had no ventilation or filtering to protect her. The single window was broken and boarded so it wasn't as if she could open it.

Her stubbornness was unforgiving as she pushed through hours of work to get everything done, fueled by her excitement to turn the room into her own.

The effects the smell had on her body didn't hit her until the tail end of her painting as she finished the second and final coat of the remaining wall.

(Y/n) practically threw the paint roller into the pan, taking a deep breath when her head began to spin. She was aware enough to mind the wet walls, but couldn't stop herself from swaying. After a significant wave of disorientation, she leaned - or rather fell - back against the doorframe, her head thumping loudly against it in the process and only worsening her headache.

With her eyes closed, her head spun as she heard the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps growing nearer, louder before they came to a halt beside her. She felt quick taps on her shoulder, light at first.