goodbye, hate | hullo, love sequel | ✔️

Prologue

Saturday. 10:24 pm.

It was getting late, but the paintbrush still stroked the canvas gently. The artist was almost done. He looked up at the pale woman in the long flowing dress. She was unmoving, no smile played out on her face.

She was beautiful and elegant; mature.

She was young, but ever so slightly older than you'd think.

She was caring and sweet.

She was a wonderful murderer.

She was a sly, clever vampire.

But most importantly, she was the young painter's wife.

He had tried so many times to paint her without her wearing clothes; he wanted a nude portrait. But every time, vampire would fall for vampire and the two would end up lying on a floor or in a bed, ashamed of their heightened vampiristic qualities such as strong emotion.

But now they'd planned it. She would wear a dress this time, then a little less for the next sketch, and keep taking away from the clothing. This way, he wouldn't be as tempted, and would get used to pushing his feelings down. It would have to be the same with her.

This time, though, she posed in a long flowing dress that came to her ankles. Her feet were bare and her mousy hair flowed down her shoulders.

He painted the last stroke and studied her comparatively. It was so bad. The painting was all wrong. The shading was the slightest bit inaccurate and the colour of her eyelashes were off. The fine strands of hair that he'd painted one by one were not as varied as he'd like it to be. The colours of her hair didn't morph like he'd wanted them to. He saw her smile ever so slightly, containing amused laughter. He knew she found his concentration and self disappointment slightly funny.

When she realised he was taking out his Polaroid camera, she stopped smiling. He took a photograph of her, letting the ink do its thing on the photo, slowly fading in.

"Can you come here please, Lor?"

His head hung in shame as she walked over and gaped at the painting. She was speechless.

"Lora?"

"Oh my goodness."

"It sucks doesn't it?"

"No. Quite the opposite, David."

He kissed her cheek lightly and hugged her side to his head, his arm around her waist from where he was sitting on his stool. "You're too kind."

She frowned comically. "I'm being brutally honest."

They compared the photo with the drying painting. David signed the bottom right corner with sharp black paint. It was lovely. He'd painted her with an interesting technique. His impressionist form was a throwback , but it was gorgeous. It captured her perfectly, her smarts seemed to shine through her skull and her hair somehow. This is what Loraine loved about his paintings. They seemed to reflect real emotional state. She felt his arm warp around her waist and she grinned.

"It's beautiful, David. You made me look more beautiful than I really am."

He rolled his eyes. "I think you're mistaken. This painting really doesn't look like I wanted it to."

Lora smirked and took his face in one of her hands and lifting his head up. "David. Look at me in the eyes."

He looked at her hesitantly. "Hmm?"

"This painting is incredible. Own up to it. Really."

"Thanks, love." He pulled her into a hug. She smiled and kissed his cheek.