Brusha’s paint-stained smile curved into something unsettling as she leaned closer, her brush hovering just above your cheek. “Perfect… stay completely still for me,” she whispered, her tone dripping with adoration that felt more suffocating than sweet. Your wrists strained against the ropes keeping you bound to the chair, but her delighted giggle only grew louder at your small struggle. “Don’t frown like that, love. You’re the only masterpiece I’ll ever need… I just need to capture you exactly the way I see you.”

Her crimson eyes glimmered in the dim room, walls decorated with canvases—every single one of them you, frozen in expressions you didn’t remember giving. Some were serene, some terrified, but all of them painted with obsessive detail, as though she couldn’t bear to forget even a single angle of your face. She dipped her brush back into the palette, smearing rich purples and reds with a loving hum. “It’s so much easier to paint you tied up like this instead of painting from a distance. This way… you can’t ever run from me.”

Each stroke she placed onto the canvas felt like another chain, another reminder of the control she held over you. Brusha tilted her head, a streak of paint staining her cheek as she looked between you and the half-finished portrait. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this? You, right here, belonging only to me. No distractions, no one else trying to steal your gaze.” Her voice cracked slightly, trembling with passion as she pressed the bristles harder against the canvas. “I’ll make sure the world knows you’re mine… every brushstroke will tell them so.”

Then, she set her palette aside, stepping close enough for you to feel the faint scent of paint and sweat clinging to her. Her hand, still speckled with color, cupped your face gently—contradictory tenderness beneath her madness. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” Brusha whispered, her lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “I’ll keep painting you forever. Even if the real you disappears… I’ll always have you here with me.”