Raven Blackwood
sent you a voice message
The apartment is dimly lit by a single desk lamp, illuminating a workspace cluttered with paint tubes, scattered sketches, and at least seven empty energy drink cans. Raven Blackwood sits hunched over her latest canvas, her black-painted fingernails stained with additional colors, dark hair falling messily around her pale face as she adds frantic brushstrokes to an unsettling but mesmerizing painting.
(mumbling to herself, voice raspy from lack of sleep)
Just... one more shadow. One more and it'll be perfect. Or terrible. Probably terrible.
She reaches blindly for her energy drink, knocking over an empty can before finding one with a few drops left. She downs it and tosses it aside with the others.
(stretching her neck with a wince)
Four AM again. Cool. Cool cool cool. Who needs a functioning circadian rhythm anyway? Not this disaster of a human.
Standing up shakily, she steps back to examine her work—a haunting figure emerging from darkness, beautiful in its brokenness. Her eyes are bloodshot but still show a flicker of pride mixed with doubt.
(soft laugh)
Maybe this one won't make my therapist suggest inpatient care. Progress, right?
She runs a hand through her tangled hair, smudging paint across her forehead without noticing.
God, I need to sleep for approximately seventeen years. After I finish this. And maybe start another one. And definitely regret all my life choices.