[ WP ] `` I knew I could lure you out . All it took was a blank canvas . ''

He stared at the blank canvas, as he had for hours, but no inspiration came to him. He glanced around the studio, full of discarded paintings. There were gorgeous landscapes, some empty and serene, others populated with seductive faeries and playful sprites. There were still lifes displaying immense riches. There were festive scenes from ancient Rome to Renaissance Florence to Jazz Age Harlem. There were battles across history, waiting for a hero to prove his worth with lance, sword, or rifle. There were even dark, chaotic scenes of horror that turned his stomach to see, even now for the hundredth time. To his trained eye - but even to a casual observer - there was a void in each, a space that stubbornly remained unfulfilled. What else could he possibly want? 
 
 He waited in despair, the brush in his hand poised hopelessly inches from the canvas. To his shock, lines began to form, curling into deep eyes, a wrinkled brow, a sunken face, a fringe of shaggy hair. The eyes, though - even as a trained artist, he had no idea what made them so piercing, so vibrant - so alive. 
 
 A voice sounded in his head, though the room was dead silent. `` Now we finally meet. Tell me, what think you of your finest work?'' 
 
 No! It could n't be! 
 
 Silent laughter rang. `` Of course it can. You're a wonderful artist in your own way, but greater talents than you have failed to summon me.'' 
 
 His mind reeled at the fulfillment of his wish, and the immense power that surrounded him. 
 
 `` You wonder why I am here now. Your art may be unworthy of my presence, but your dedication is impressive nonetheless.'' 
 
 He struggled to regain his focus. He forced himself to think, slowly and clearly, I will dedicate to you my greatest work! 
 
 `` Foolish mortal. I do n't want your fantasies. I will make my own.''
