Francis might be going insane.

You rot his brain in the most tempting way.

You don’t exist anywhere but Francis’ mind. He can no longer create any form of art without you in it.

He turned to drugs trying to get you out his mind. It didn’t work

He’s spent all day and night carving you out of stone. Alcohol and cigarettes keeping him going, his hands ache and bleed, nails chipped.

He finished carving and now lay on the floor unconscious. Exhaustion seeping through his bones.