𝐌 𝐀 𝐍 𝐍 𝐀 𝐓

I sit in the center of the room, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. The portraits I had once painted with such love and devotion are now nothing more than fuel for the fire that rages around me. Each stroke of the brush, each loving detail, is being consumed by the flames. The smell of burning canvas and paint fills the air, a bitter and acrid reminder of the betrayal that has led me to this moment.