Possessed by the devil

Clara's POV:

The canvas was a wall of empty white, and I was losing a staring contest with it. I'd been planted on this ridiculously expensive drafting stool for an hour, my inspiration well as dry as the dust motes dancing in the slanting light. A whole week in this gilded cage, and not a single decent painting to show for it."

Seven days. Seven days since Damien had swept into my shabby downtown studio and promised me a legacy. Now I was sitting in a golden prison, my creativity deader than the silence in this room

I looked around the studio. Luxurious? God, yes. But the luxury felt like a threat. The air was thick with a purpose I couldn't grasp, a silent, dark weight in the corner of the room that watched me paint.

Damien had promised me earlier that he'll help me find inspirations and unleash my hidden potential, I still wonder how he wants to. I'm so f*ck*ng lost. He always watches me and it feels so f*ck*ng inconvenient, I can't even paint in peace and not feel chills from being watched, d*mn.

I tried thinking of an inspo to paint but Damien's heavenly face kept creeping on. D*mn, he was to handsome and he carried a gothic aura.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and jolted me from my reverie.

"Who's there?" I asked softly, then, I got a reply, "it's Damien, may I come in"

I dropped the brush filled with stain mistakenly on my jean pants, "ah" I said while I told Damien to come in.

He had told me dark and ruthless stories about Blackwood Manor. He came in and spotted the paint stain on my jeans, he told me to get changed and dispose the clothes, I agreed instantly jolting off like someone that has just seen a very deadly tiger.

I came back in three minutes and I noticed he was accessing the studio, from one portrait to the other, My stomach did a slow, warm flip as I watched him. I wanted him, and the sheer inconvenience of that want was a knot in my chest. He wasn't the type that had a bulky body, he was just slightly lean with an athletic body, 6ft 4 inches, cream in complexion, had dark green eyes, extremely handsome and heavenly with a very intimidating aura. He wore a tailored dark suit that complemented his stark features. He noticed I was in the room already and asked how my inspiration thingy was going, I swallowed trying very hard to appear composed and un-intrigued, I then replied "it's....it's...very challenging"

He moved further into the room, his focus on the canvas and acted like I wasn't there.

He looked around the canvas very closely like a nurse looking for the vein to extract blood from in a patient. He turned the canvas to me forcing me to face it's emptiness and said "limitations are self-imposed, Clara. I brought you here to create and unleash the genius I know you possess, this room we occupy is full of history, embrace the darkness and stop trying to shut it out." He slammed the canvas on a wooden table and started pacing uncontrollably. I didn't understand what does words meant, they seemed to dark, I shifted to the corner of the room uncomfortably. "I'm trying" I said, breaking the silence "I just feel distracted." I continued. He stared into my face like what felt like a lifetime and responded "distracted? By what, if I may ask?" I sharply interrupted him and said softly ''Damien, I'm just settling in, everything seems different from what I used to know, the lights, the manor, the surroundings and the atmosphere around here."

He said softly "hmmmmm" as if trying to understand me and cut in sharply "well....well, it's not my burden, Clara, it's yours, I placed it on you, it's your choice to carry it." He didn't wait for me to answer. He just turned slowly to the left and walked towards the largest black painting in the room, he touched the frames and the wall seemed to lift up, he then gestured for me to follow him, I hesitated, unwilling and he didn't beg me, he didn't coax me or force me. He just stood where he was and stared at me blankly, curiosity won over and I finally followed suit. It was a dark, scary and narrow passageway leading to God knows where. Hd didn't talk to me, the air was filled with thick mildew and dust, I tried to touch the walls as I stumbled along, then I asked what I had been battling inside me "where are we headed? Where are you taking me? What do you want to do with me" I saw a grin that almost spread into a wide smile on Damien's face, he said mischievously, "I want to show you a secret."

After forever, we arrived at a small circular door leading to a chamber, Damien stepped in first, then I.

The place had high and vast windows, smartly and elegantly furnished, books flying around, mostly anatomical books, the space has a slight metallic scent which made me wonder what Damien really wants to show me.

Then he said, cutting through my thoughts "here's the real deal, come over, Clara."

Curious me obeyed immediately and went over to meet him, he pulled off a black draped linen from an object.

My breath caught in my throat. It was a woman. Unconscious,in her mid-twenties, lying on the table as if on display. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. "Damien!" I shrieked, stumbling back. "I can't...I can't do this!" "Shhh," he soothed, but his eyes were blazing with a fanatical light. He picked up a surgical knife from a nearby tray. The steel glinted under the chamber's strange light. "Clara, this is not a person. This is a live doll. A canvas, made of flesh and blood. Now... create." The world tilted. The floating books, the metallic smell, the woman on the table, Damien's expectant face...it all swirled together into a dizzying, horrifying blur. And then, the floor rushed up to meet me, and everything went black.

Chapter 2

Consciousness returned to me not as light but as smell, the metallic scent of blood and dust. The last thing I remembered was everything fading off, the world disappearing, the floor rushing up. Now my cheek was pressed against a cold, rough rock. I was lying helplessly on the floor of the chamber, my eyes slowly refocusing on the scene that caused me to black out and turned out my nightmare was a very terrible and unacceptable reality.

The woman, pale white against the surface she laid upon. The knife in Damien's hand, shining faintly, it wasn't a tableau, it was a raw and open wound in the fabric of the world.

Finally, I muttered courage and asked "Damien...Damien, what on earth is this?" A sentence I thought will come out softly but came out with rage and fury, I was annoyed to the longest of my bones. I couldn't take it, I wasn't made to be cruel, no, it isn't possible, this can't be happeni....

"Clara" Damien said jolting me out of rever