[ WP ] Evil is its own kind of beautiful .

Dawn. Light slivers its way between every building, every corner, every nook and cranny. Once it reaches my art it shall shine brilliantly. I finally finished it through a nights worth of work. Perfection is the result. 
 
 But wait, what is that? A single strand out of place? One thin black thread can obscure the milk white of the centerpiece! Quickly now I must rush. It is not yet perfect, light shall not touch it when there is more work to be done. 
 
 Delicately I step through the mural, one mistake and it could all be ruined. I do not even breathe. This is what it takes to be a master, and I daresay, I have outdone myself again! This piece envelopes the floor of the entire building. High dark walls create the feeling of despair and dotting them are ornate multicolored windows. The rising sun will bring to life my dream, my vision. I only make one request. An audience. Someone to share these pleasures. 
 
 I look down at the beautiful glass eyes that stare into oblivion. Adorned with a fragile white face, thin lips and an elegant chin, it surely is a sight to behold. A dark mass crowns the top, plucking this single black wisp shall be more akin to pruning a tree than anything else. 
 
 Slowly I take hold of it and give it a quick yank. It comes free and the art is complete. Then the light hits it and erupts in splendor. Washes of red flare from the shiny granite floor. Other hues, carefully stained into the various pieces, are not to be out done. The room is bathed in the dazzling colors as only a masterpiece can create. 
 
 Every body placed perfectly, contorted into just, the right, angle. Every splash thought out, a bit here, a bit there and thicker as you move in towards the centerpiece. Her pure white dress, with all its lace and hemming, stained with the glorious tones of red to make for a complexion of utter longingness. Trueness that transcends even the gods, yet still can not overcome the taint of its mortal sin. 
 
 Doors burst inwards at the end of the long carpet. Blue judges here to compare my work with others of my kind. I bow, as is customary. They stop when they are close, when they can finally see my life ’ s ends work. Their faces turn from flushed grim determination to stark white horror. Isn ’ t it glorious? I smile. 

