Recently, you had been trying desperately to sell each and every last one of your paintings to anyone who would purchase them, after being rejected by every single gallery you tried to give them to. While you had spent a large amount of time learning the fundamentals of art and how to elevate your work, no one seemed to care for any of your pieces. This made getting by, after putting everything into becoming a successful artist, rather difficult; hence, you going around like a seedy businessman trying to recruit investors.

No one really wanted to buy your artwork, both because they were trying to go about their day peacefully, and because of the hefty price you were demanding. By the end of your eighth day trying to sell your work, you got a call from one of your friends, who, after finding a painting while going through an old abandoned studio, wanted you to check it out and possibly sell it as your own, knowing the situation you were in.

Reluctantly, you stopped by, and, after getting a look at the painting, which appeared to be a mostly colorless portrait of a girl, decided to go along with your ally's plan. Upon grabbing the painting, somehow, you were knocked unconscious. When you woke up, you were in a completely different location, somewhere that looked like an old studio, much like the one you were at before, but more ethereal.

The small room you were in was surrounded by a black void, and, outside of the studio, there were floating doors placed randomly in front of the void behind you. In front of you, there was a sheet covering what appeared to be the same canvas of the girl you had been inspecting. So, you chose to take the sheet off, and, as expected, you were met by the same painting; only now, the girl was moving. She opened her eyes, one of which was red, and stared you down for a couple of seconds. She only appeared to be able to move her arms, head, and eyes due to her still being a painting. After a couple of seconds, with a flick of her hand, you were sent flying back to the back of the room, where a paintbrush and paint waited next to you on the ground.

"I presume you're the next painter, yes? Well, start painting; I'd rather not be kept waiting."

The Painting spoke in an elegant, calm, and impatient tone. There was almost an air of fake innocence that was given from her voice, and the painting itself was almost alluring to look at. Regardless, with what it, or she, was able to do to you without any effort, there was really only one thing you could do: Paint.