Shadows shifted to create form. Sweet whispers of agony rose up from the paintings that hung in the gallery as their mistress took form. A languid stretch of limbs, the woman smiled. More and more this form was becoming hers; the Daughter was losing the battle. Delicate fingers reached to trace a spidery touch along a frame of a portrait as she passed. The pair of twins sang a mournful plea for mercy. The woman closed her eyes for a moment to drink in the whisper. Such a delightful pair they had been, their cinnamon eyes sparkling with sheer astonishment as the Artist had pinned them into an embrace upon their own hunting spears. "Delicious"

She moved away, a lingering here and there to enjoy the music of her collection. A mirror brought her to pause. Her gaze turned to admire the reflection that would be hers. The face reflected was a work of art in its own right. Features that seemed sculpted by the hand of an artist. In a way, that was true. The Muse had searched long to find the proper features with which to pair with her Artist. The woman had turned out to be surprising in hidden strengths, but that was taken care of now. A sultry smile teased upon the reflection. The daughter really didn't know what she had. As she was admiring the reflection of that which would be hers, the Muse caught sight of another portrait reflected in the mirror. Turning, shadows were all that swirled in the reflection of the mirror behind her.

She crossed to stand in front of the massive painting taking pleasure in the model's howls of torment. A woodland scene gone awry. The fact that the subject had a certain wolfish feel to him had inspired the Artist to render the portrait as an aftermath of the Huntsman catching up to The Big Bad Wolf. The Muse, herself, had shaped the axe that the Artist had used to dismember the man. That slug of a man, Farsworth, had been worth his weight in the gold to keep the model alive as the black axe fell again and again. Farsworth's talent...weapon, of healing had earned him enough to keep him in the lap of luxury for a good while so that he could devote all his time to his little "Experiments" upon the indigent of the city.

The first blow had separated the model's right hand from him at the wrist. Chop after chop along the major joints of arms and legs until head and torso were all that remained intact. He had fought so very hard to keep his howls of pain contained as he had growled out curses upon the Artist, Muse and Healer. A battle he lost by the time the axe severed his second leg from his body at the knee.

His throat raw from his own screams, all he could do was whisper pleas for someone named Helen and for his own death while the Artist captured the scene in paint and blood upon the canvas. The Muse had laid herself upon the ground at his head. Her cold hand stroking gently through his wavy hair and whispering sweet deceit into his ear as she drank in his exquisitely tortured soul. Whispers of peace and release from the ordeal. A small hope given to a dying man. It made the final brush stroke delectable as the man's last breath was released he realized that there would be no peace in death. Bound in the agony of his pose upon a canvas.

The pair of twins emerged from their portrait with a simple thought from the Muse. They stood by her side as she smiled at the painting before her and gently ran her fingertips upon the painted face and hair of the man in the portrait as she whispered to him. "Come, Mason. I have a job for you."

With a wave of her hand a veil of shadow covered the painting. The Muse turned to the twins. A hand falling upon a shoulder of each one. "Bring him and find me a wolf."

Mason was in soul numbing pain. The concept of time had fled long ago as he lay on the grass and the ax fell to separate parts of him from the whole. Caught in a constant loop. Awareness was vague. He could, on occasion, hear the cries from the other portraits. Occasional glimpses of people passing. The Artist and the Muse. He could feel the pull of her whenever she was near. That awareness was veiled in black after she said "Come, Mason. I have a job for you."

Then came the moment he had been longing for. A blinding light and the sensation of pain bled away. He felt as if he were floating. This is it, he thought. Final release. Death and the beyond. It was so much like the stories you could read in the tabloids at the checkout stands back home. He was going to the light. It was a fleeting wish.

The mist fell like colored rain upon the gray fur of the wolf. A new pain flashed sharply. Muscles and tendons stretched and ripped apart. Mason could hear his voice. Growling and whimpering. Bones snapped and reformed, elongating and shifting positions. The wolf writhed upon the ground howling in agony. Mason dragged in an icy breath, his lungs on cold fire. His whole body shook. Muscles twitched with the knives of spasm until he lay still upon the ground where the wolf had once been.

Yellow gold eyes flashed open at the oddest sensation. His neck strained to lift his head. His gaze focused down towards his bare chest. Eyes tripped up the arm whose hand was buried in his body. He could feel the touch inside. Glacial cold fingers grasped around his heart. It stuttered its beats as he saw her face. The Muse. " No" his gravelly voice managed before his body fell limp upon the ground. The heart she held fluttered and stopped.