Lena’s hands trembled as she stared at the eviction notice. Rent was due. Again. Her dream of becoming a renowned artist was slipping through her fingers.
That’s when she met him. A man in a red suit, sipping wine at a dimly lit bar. His voice was smooth, his smile sharp. “You want success?” he asked, swirling his glass. “I can make it happen.”
Lena scoffed. “And what do you want in return?”
He leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “A painting. One that truly captures your soul.”
It sounded ridiculous. A painting? That was it? She shook his hand.
Her life changed overnight. Galleries clamored for her work. Critics raved. Money poured in. But then, the nightmares started. Visions of shadows creeping through her studio, whispering as she painted. Her hands moved on their own, creating images that twisted reality into something dark and unrecognizable.
One night, she awoke to find the man in the red suit standing at the foot of her bed, smiling. “It’s time.”
She ran to her latest painting, heart hammering. There, on the canvas, was her own face—hollow-eyed, screaming.
The realization hit her like a tidal wave. He hadn’t taken her painting. He had taken her.