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Raven's hand slid across the paper. A dash here, a line there.
Curves, a circle. Details, shading.
The images in her head begged for release. They screamed at her in dreams, whispered in the silence of her room, danced pictures across her memory that would not leave.
But the violet haired girl had found a way. She had found a way to exorcise her own demons.
Her pencils moved quicker now. Fire, dashes of smoky flames, a high moon hidden just behind..
She watched with a keen eye as her hand moved with it's own will to create the picture. It haunted her, the images always frightened her, but she forced herself to continue.
And as she worked, her mind slid away. It found it's way over thoughts, conversations, imagery…
They had started a long time ago, too long ago for her to remember correctly. Back then they were nothing, simply depressing thoughts, the musings of her own dark mind. She had paid them no mind, she was still a hero surrounded by her favorite people…she was just being melodramatic, gothic, creepy.
There was no one to tell, and no need to. She dealt with anything troubling herself, there was no need to worry anyone else. Headstrong? Maybe she was… but then she had always been too independent.
From there they had worsened. The images were bolder, twisted, they drove deep into her mind to settle. Death, torture, things too unspeakable.
And then they were accompanied by noise. Silent screams ushering her, begging to be saved. It had awoken her hero instinct at once, they needed saving!
Bristling her awake at two am, Raven had found no one needing to be saved beside herself.
Night after night, their were people, screaming, drying. They pleaded with her, why was she leaving them to suffer?
One night she had awoke in a cold sweat, the noise had been following her. Her tired eyes had flown open to greet the darkness of the room.
The voices rang in her ears still. They sounded the same as her dreams, they had failed to fade into her conscious. Raven had pressed her hands to her ears, but the noise was in her head and would not be silenced…
The sharp tip of her pencil spit lead across the paper. Mouths agape, dead screams in their lungs, she drew it all.
After that night the voices had continued to follow her into the waking world. They would only leave with the sunrise when Raven had pushed herself into a corner, painfully pressing hands to her ears.
And she would cry for them. Silent tears when the noise wouldn't leave. Why were innocent people suffering? Why couldn't she help them?
The voices almost reminded her of the noise of silence. When a room was completely quiet, but there was still that sound..
But amplified, drowning out all other things.
The images continued to create themselves across her mind. Blood, terrified eyes and scars… cold darkness, loneliness…
It was the fears of the world, and she lived with them every minute of her day. She told no one, how could she?
Voice's and graphic images, it was a one way ticket to an insane asylum. They would lock her up in a room with nothing to do but listen to the voices and see the images behind her eyes.
She would have nothing to illustrate with.
Raven's pencil moved down the lines. Dripping blood smeared across a dirty, unforgiving ground.
She paused, looking the drawing over once or twice. Her eyes examined each line before delicately putting the horrid image together. It was perfect, her nightmare on paper.
She set down the pencil, reading for her brushes and paint bottles. Color was the final step.
She used the moonlight for her images. It was too risky to have a regular light on at this hour. She didn't want to risk someone investigating. There would be no way to explain her early morning hobby.
Raven grabbed the red first, it was always the first color to be used. She shifted, folding her legs Indian style before unscrewing the red.
Uncaring, she squirted a quarter sized portion onto her leg before dipping a larger paint brush into it.
It looked like fresh blood bubbling on her pale skin. It made her shiver as she leaned a little over to brush on the red.
There had been only one titan to take notice of her change. It was only because of his detective ways that he caught it in the first place.
She had messily cleaned the paint away one morning as she made her tea. Robin had asked her about a smudge of red on the side of her hand. With groggy eyes she had told him and was nothing and poured herself some tea.
After that he had been watching her carefully. He picked up whenever she was much more tired or pale, the times she was up far too early and whenever she was reluctant to sleep.
But the entire time, beside him mentioning the red stain, he hadn't said a thing.
Raven knew in the way he looked at her he was dying to ask, his promise to her privacy kept him at bay.
He still kept a conscious watch for her, trying in his own way to put together what was wrong.
If only he knew, she thought grimly, dashing red in the flames line art. She coated it again where the blood dripped across his skin, her brush moving quicker.
She reached for the black next, spitting a splotch onto her skin before dipping the paint brush for the right amount.
Black was for the cold, lost look of the eyes, the thick smoke from the flames, it blended with the red for a dark blood color.
She worked faster now. Her hand was moving around, a dash there, shading here, highlighting.
It painted quick and thick across the parchment. The colors suddenly came faster. The screams attacked her ears, crying, urging, driving her mad.
Raven slapped on a dark blue, immediately unsatisfied. Her eyes watered at the failing image. She dropped the brush, brushing her finger across the blue. It smeared under her finger.
She needed it faster. It had to be done, she was running out of time.
Her art did take time, but sometimes she didn't notice the time passing. Sometimes sunrise came too quickly. When it did, the voices followed her into the day. The mystic could not take that kind of thing anymore.
Her nails scratched at the paper, angry colors were swirling recreating the fierce imagery. She dipped her finger into the paint occasionally, touching up the glow of the lost eyes, deepening the fire or the cuts…
The noise was coming to a crescendo, it was almost-
Her nail dashed across the skin of one of the figures, deepening the blue color of his eyes. She fixed the red of another's hair.
The blue of circuits…the pale fauna tone of one's skin.
Paint smearing. Emotions mixing, thoughts jumbling.
And fire, fire overtaking it all. Demons pulling away at the last of their lives, blood pooling around the failing bodies…
Raven sighed, pulling her hands back. She tilted her head to the side for a moment as the moonlight glimmered off the wetly painted image.
It was perfect. Perfectly haunting, just as in her mind. It was four familiar people…their souls being eaten alive.
The sound of people shrieking was dying down. Morning was approaching. It was another night of little sleep for the girl.
Needless she would march downstairs like every other day, the nightmare forgotten until night spread across the city again.
Raven picked up the painting, admiring her work. Her demons were put to rest, satisfied with their trickery. She swiped the last of the paint off her skin before standing with her painting.
Silently she padded across the room to slide the painting in behind her bookcase. It was where they all went so none would find them. It wouldn't be long before the countless drawings and paintings stared poking out, dying to be seen.
Raven yawned, wiping the unshed tears from her eyes with worn fingers. How long had it been since she had slept the entire night? Too long for her to remember now.
She turned, heading toward her door. She would wash her hands quickly before taking her morning route downstairs.
Already she knew a certain detective would be waiting for her, only to ask her how she slept.
Oh, how she wished to one morning be able to give him a truthful answer.
Just a little one shot that was in my head. Don't even ask where this stuff comes from, I have no idea.
Please review and tell me what you thought.