He is an artwork

He became a completely different person.

It was as if he'd been possessed by an encumbered spirit as soon as he crossed the threshold of his home. He is a family man, or so she thought. A handsome one, who sought after his daughters' needs. A loving one, who'd greet her with a charming smile. She remembered while bleeding from her wrists. The rope was meshing into her skin and she bit on a cloth and closed her eyes. She remembered.

"Oh, you made it." He smiled. He had an alluring, dangerous sort of smile. The type of smile you'd have with a coffee, dark and mysterious.

Crystal smiled shyly."I couldn't turn down your offer, now could I?" She looked around at his studio.

"It's a mesh of almost everything." She spotted his Baroque-inspired curtains. "Wow", she said under her breath. He'd been watching her reactions the entire time, it made her shy. His eyes looked eager, attentive but sweet.

"Would you like me to show you around?"There was that smile again. He smiled, as mountains smile to see the spring. She thought to herself: Man I could write poetry about this man.

"Crystal—"

She was gently woven out of her daze by his hand. She reacted quickly out of impulse." Yes, sorry." She hoped that wasn't awkward. But he scoffed with a smirk and led her to another room.

"This is my recreational area." The only modern thing hanging in this vintage area was the television on the wall.

"That's a huge screen." She commented.

" My daughter, she loves watching cartoons."

She nodded." Where is she?"

"By her mother." He ushered her into the other half of the house. Where his personality started to change, little by little." Her grandmother, that is."

He showed her one of his dark artworks.

"This I'd say is one of my best artworks." He became boastful. "Better then Francisco Goya right?"

He was very passionate when he spoke about his artworks, he had a pretty morbid perspective of life. He wasn't fazed by it though, Mr Perfect always has a side to him. Everybody has their sides, it depends on which one they choose to show.

"Would you like to see my studio?"

He was standing awfully close to her, so close her heart started racing. Not in alarm but in infatuation. His eyes, like those of a pitiless judge, seemed to go to the very bottom of all questions, to read all natures, all feelings and thoughts. And he was looking down at her, at her eyes, at her lips.

"Crystal?"

She stuttered. "Ye— Yes?"

He tilted her chin with his index finger. She was now in full view of his blue eyes."Are you sure?"

And that was her undoing.