She paints with red because she’s run out of people to bleed. Abused. Abandoned. She stopped crying years ago—started cutting instead. Canvas. Flesh. Whatever held still long enough.
Now she sells her rage in galleries. Hides her kills in plain sight. He’s been watching from the shadows. Quietly observing. Not to stop her. To join her. She thought she’d never need anyone.
Then he brought the knives. CUT DEEPER Some couples f*ck. Some couples kill.
?Graphic Violence
