prince and his shield

Going in, Steve saw a narrow and winding path with scattered paintings on both sides, leading to the upstairs.

All are portraits, the first one is like a first encounter, and on the road behind, he witnessed the love journey between the author and the person in the painting.

The first time was a stunning first sight.The third time was the sneaky observation in the corner of the bar that I followed deliberately.Steve didn't realize the woman in the painting was a model until he saw the second one.

The first painting is not of her on the farm, but a deliberately staged work.

Because in the second picture, the woman is wearing the clothes of the first picture and standing among a bunch of staff, the moment her hair falls down, there is a kind of tired but extremely tenacious tenacity.

The color tone is far less gorgeous and dreamy than the first one, and the color palette permeates a trace of deliberate coldness and numbness.But the characters are more beautiful than those depicted in the first picture, very beautiful.

It's so beautiful.

Steve groaned, maybe this is beauty in the eye of the beholder?

There was a trace of disobedience in his heart, and he frowned.

The title of the second painting is "Amber", which may be the name of the woman in the painting.

"The person who painted this picture is really persistent." Royston stood beside him with his head tilted, and suddenly said.

"what?"

Royston pointed to the third picture.

"...Well, yes." Probably the sense of disobedience is here.

Except for the first picture, the focus of the heroine's line of sight in all the paintings is not outside the frame, and the author's angle... is a little bit off.

Like secretly watching, observing.Want to do something.

Finding himself drawn uncontrollably to the paintings, Steve had to gather his thoughts: "Uh...can I know why we're here?"

"It was originally for buying paintings and flower shops." Royston squinted his eyes.

"now what?"

"I don't know. Look again." Royston looked away.

Steve majored in art before, so he still has some understanding of these.

There is no welcome sign at the door, just a picture that exudes a kind of atmosphere. If you are also attracted, you can walk in and take a look, but the rest will not be there.

These paintings are by no means put up for auction.

More like a... um, show?show off……

Ah, no, showing off doesn't seem to be the right way to describe this kind of 'love'...

What is clearly on display is a journey.But the display seemed to hint at a less than happy ending.

Steve felt a little depressed for no reason.

Even though the layout here is very careful, every painting can see the heart and love.

"I've decided." Royston said with a straight face, "I have to take Amber away. I can't stay here."

"..." Steve tugged at his arm, "I don't think the owner of the painting intends to auction these."

"I'll let him hand it over." Ross Eaton turned and continued walking along the road paved by the painting.

Steve turned his head and glanced at the third painting. The eyes of the woman in the feasting and feasting were full of bewilderment and pitiful fragility.This kind of fragility, in this kind of environment, somehow makes people want to ask her if she is okay.

Maybe the author's feelings are a little deeper than mine, because the woman in my eyes is so beautiful that she emits a shimmer.

Steve looks away, frowning.

Next, the author knew that Amber was a model, or a not-so-handy graphic model.Like all young people struggling in big cities, she works hard, makes progress, and refuses to admit defeat.

But it failed again and again, and was shattered by reality time and time again.

There is a picture of a woman who was thrown down by the working group in the heavy rain, and was drenched in the street late at night.

In the dark gray tone, there are spots and colorful neon lights on her face, causing strange light and shadows, like a distorted foreign object that is slowly forming.

Steve's brows furrowed deeper and deeper.

Royston walked upstairs past the painting.

Steve hesitated, then followed.He was a little concerned about the next painting.

In the middle of the corridor is a very messy painting, even a little dirty at first glance.Steve still found the 'protagonist' at a glance.The woman in the painting is wearing a mask and has a bunch of tools in her hand, standing on the edge of the chaotic work group, looking at another woman under the spotlight from a distance.

Steve moved his hand, his face was strange.

The voice of Royston talking to someone came from upstairs, and Steve found himself distracted again and followed.

"I want to buy all the paintings."

"...As I said, these paintings are not for sale."

The voice of the person speaking to him was reluctant, but polite.Steve was suddenly weak, and took a few steps up: "Sorry, he's not—"

Then his words got stuck in his throat, and his eyes widened slightly, looking at a huge painting in the middle of the upstairs.In the first half, red flames, black water, resplendent boats, and distorted black and white figures above.

The lower part is a large piece of white, and the woman in the golden skirt is covered with black hands, and the body seems to be distorted into weird sections.

The disproportionately huge woman looked like a goddess who was being dragged off the altar by black hands and was about to be torn apart, even though she was lying on the bottom.

Depressed to the extreme.

It wasn't just this woman named Amber who was broken, but a secret expectation and desire of the author seemed to be shattered as well.A picture mixed with madness, pain, confusion, and disbelief.

And malice, unabashed malice and hatred.

"I'm sorry." Steve blurted out.

"She is dead. You have to let her go. She will never meet your expectations. You have failed." Royston said lightly.

"you shut up!"

The man in a white shirt, wearing a jumpsuit, and a painting shovel stuffed in his trouser pocket was originally very gentle and polite. Even before Steve spoke, a slightly sad smile was about to take shape.

But as soon as Rose Eaton opened his mouth, his expression instantly turned ferocious.

Steve looked at the man's face and pursed his lower lip slightly.

"...Sorry." As if realizing his gaffe, the man swallowed dryly, lowered his eyebrows and looked very sad, "I'm just too sad."

Steve looked again at the painting in the center.

From the looks of it, Bowen's coming here is not aimless.

The woman in the painting should have died in a previous ship accident, and he should know her.

"...I actually asked her to call you." Rose Eaton stood for a while, slowly showing a disgusted expression on his face, "Which cramp did I have?"

The man's expression froze, and he suddenly raised his head to stare at Royston.

Royston looked back at him: "What? Shouldn't you be very excited that what you did was finally discovered?"

"You...found what..." The man's Adam's apple rolled, his pupils trembled, and he took a step forward uncontrollably.

"I discovered the ultimate of your art. How should I say... broken beauty?" Royston put his hands in his pockets and stood up straight with a hint of sarcasm on his face.

"Satan is on top. I actually got a little overdrawn and gave her a call." He closed his eyes and showed a very annoyed expression, "I'm really crazy."

There was a strange smile on the corner of the man's mouth, and he quickly restrained: "I know you. You are that supermodel, Royston Bowen."

"My name is James."

"I'm also a photographer." He laughed, his Adam's apple rolling, "Can I...can I take a photo of you? I've never tried a man."

Steve's eyebrows twitched, blissful to his heart, and he looked around the second floor.Pursing her lips, sure enough, all the angles of the paintings seemed to be captured by a camera behind the scenes, and there was even a picture so close that it should be on both sides of the bed.

The painter just made a more subjective modification.

"I don't think it's useful for me to refuse. Anyway, you'll secretly take pictures and then stuff me in." Royston looked at him like a rat in a gutter.

The man's face twitched a few times, and the hand that extended the business card slowly took it back: "Ha, you really like to joke."

"Ah—why? Why? Why did I ask her to call?? Huh?" Rose Eaton stomped her feet and gritted her teeth.

"... Phone? You asked her to call." The man stared at him closely.

Rose Eaton turned to look at him: "I regret it."

The man's expression management became more and more out of control.He stared at Royston as if he was very thirsty, eager to do something.Steve noticed that his hands were shaking erratically.

Covering his mouth with his hand, Steve shook his head, walked a little further away, and began to look around.

Jesus, Bowen's physique is terrible.

"I really thought you loved her." Royston gnawed his nails irritably.

"You arranged for her to get on the boat. She left halfway and met Dylan just in time because you asked her to go to Room 103." Royston groaned and jumped twice on the spot, "shit."

"shit—I should have found out."

"Why are you so scary?" Royston gritted his teeth and looked at the only two people present.

The devil has been around for half a century, why is he still suddenly shocked by the evil that only belongs to human beings?Why?Or is it that he was really so silly and sweet before, and the world he saw had its own filters.

Gan.Hell is so damn flat compared to the world.

Steve, who was carefully observing the clues... "No matter what you are talking about... I think I should be different from him."

"Call the police." Royston said suddenly.

"what?"

The man took a quick step back, and then forced a puzzled expression: "What are you talking about?"

"I want to beat someone." Rose Eaton wrinkled his face. "Before he is killed by me, you have to make sure the police arrive in time."

"..." Steve... "We need more evidence."

"Let me think about it," Royston stroked his sleeves, "a well-known modern painter saw Lie Xinxi, tried to do something wrong with supermodel Rose Eaton Bowen, and was beaten into a pig's head."

"This is a newspaper headline...it's unlikely to be a case." The man was about to run, and Steve stepped to the stairs.

"What should I do?"

"I think...he should have painted more than one person."

The man suddenly looked ferocious, pulled out the painting shovel from his pocket, and rushed towards Royston.

Royston kicked the man away, and then kicked him fiercely: "You still run! You still run!!"

"..." Steve paused, then turned around, "I'll look for other paintings."

Royston continued to kick.

Steve walked upstairs and downstairs twice, turning a deaf ear to the screams, and finally stared at the painting in the stairwell for a while, thinking of the exterior of the house that he had just glanced at.

He reached out and pushed the painting away, knocked on the wall, and stood a little further away.

Lift your feet.

'boom--'

A puff of smoke and dust spewed out, and Steve danced his hands, looking into the dark compartment inside.

Suddenly there was a screaming sound from upstairs, like an angry trapped animal.

Steve glanced up, realized what he was about to see, took a deep breath, and ducked in.

Then one after another, more than [-] paintings were moved downstairs.

Turned over a bit, there are six women.

On average, each person has about 8-9 paintings.The beginning of the painting must be a beautiful and warm "first encounter", the middle must be full of setbacks, and the last two pictures are similar.

Six different suicide scenarios.

On the back of the six major plays, there will be photos of the same size, black and white.

The women in the photo must be wearing the clothes in the first painting, against a dark background.

At first glance, I thought it was a wax figure exhibition.

Steve felt a little nauseous, stared at it for a second or two, and cursed.

It's not a wax figure, it's really plasticized.

The screams from upstairs stopped, Steve glanced at it, and squatted down thinking about something.

Royston, who had beaten him unconscious, walked to the door of the kicked-off cubicle, looked down at the pile of high piles of scary paintings, and met Steve's eyes.

Steve silently turned all the pictures upside down: "It seems that you need to explain more things during your trip to the police station."

Royston pursed his lips, and said suddenly, "I've lived here for several years."

"so?"

"It's okay." Rose Eaton rubbed his fingers.

Steve was about to call the police, pressed his phone, and was startled by someone's profile on the lock screen.Closing his eyes, he smiled and sighed.But I have to admit, after checking out so many disgusting paintings, I feel a lot better when I see this lock screen.

He pressed the numbers, but couldn't figure it out.

Frowning, he pressed it again.

Ross Eaton reported a string of numbers.

Steve looked up sharply.

"It's my birthday." Rose Eaton lifted his white hand, without a trace of bruising on it, "Remember it."

"Your birthday?" Steve repeated blankly.

Exactly the same, exactly the same as Roy, what a coincidence?

Royston tilted his head to look at him: "You are really evil."

"What?" Steve was taken aback by him again.

"I won't move. I'm going to meet more perverts." Royston was speechless.

"...What are you talking about?" Steve unlocked the combination lock, and then saw the pouting mouth on the phone screen.

He glanced at Royston and shook his phone: "Are you serious?"

"Don't change it. I'm in a bad mood right now," Royston reminded him, "You change it. I'll smash your phone."

Steve... call the police first, call the police.

The author has something to say: ... I found that my painting style suddenly became suspenseful.

A strange idea.

-

Because there are more and more perverts, New York opened a special madhouse, referring to Gotham next door, called "Assam Madhouse"

:)