it's just a little paint - open -

[Asylum Haneul Ra]

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and my heart's not breaking

'cause i'm not feeling anything at all

[atrb=border,0,true] The sun was high overhead, annoying the pretty little Korean as she sat beneath the shade of a tree, a hand held at her temple to block out the rays. A small easel held a mostly blank canvas as she bit the side of her lip, putting her brush down, before digging through her bag looking for a pair of sunglasses to help blot out the brightness. She re straightened her red skirt, before bunching her sleeves up a little higher, the cape like jacket she had worn earlier that morning already tossed aside. Asy picked up the brush again, dipping it back in a shade of green paint, before setting the tip of the brush to the canvas before deliberately stroking it up, releasing pressure so it faded at the tip. She repeated the process, painting in the distinct blades of grass against the base of the tree she'd already partially painted in, worrying her lip between her teeth as she put her focus in the art work, blocking everything else from her mind. The sun began to heat the world around her, warming the bare skin on her legs, and her bare feet, her shoes setting delicately atop the red and black cape. Her eyes focused just past the painting to the stretch of courtyard she was painting, resting her paint brush between her index finger and middle finger, tapping it faintly unknowingly tapping green paint onto her cheek. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, as it fell from the pony tail she'd sloppily pulled it up in. She cleaned off the brush before dipping it into another, darker, shade of green, going in and shadowing some of the grass until she deemed it acceptable. She then began to paint the outline of the demon her mind saw leaning against the tree, drawing his long legs, the horns sticking out of slightly spiky black hair, the wings lazy half opened. She painted calmly, giving life to what her mind forced her to see, unwilling to realize that it wasn't real. It was too interesting of a paint subject to ignore. Her head snapped back towards the spot, seeing the creature move a wing, and she tilted her head cautiously, instantly wondering why he was here, what he wanted . . . She saw him move and she bit her lip again, her mind suddenly in a chaotic mess of paranoia, What does he want? Is he here to kill me? Could he kill me? Maybe he's here to spy on us! Maybe there's an angel, or something hidden among us! What if there's a huge conspiracy now! For creatures like him and the angel to take over! They're going to enslave the human race! I don't want to be a - he's gone? She tilted her head, as she looked back towards the tree, seeing nothing. She stood, looking around, her small bare feet sinking into the long grass. She stood tiny, barely five foot two, her hair brushing her cheeks, green paint staining the ends of one side when it came in contact with the paint on her face. He really was gone. She glanced at her painting, relieved that she had at least finished painting him into the image. She slowly sank back down, tucking her feet up next to her, as she picked up her brush, rinsing it, and then dipping it into some blue, adding to the colors in the sky, spreading it out to start adding more into the blank half of the canvas, only the corner with tree, grass, and demon being done. She focused on the sky, adding in different hues and colors, using a sponge to dab in wispy clouds, blue and white paint adding to the colors on her face, her arms, her hands. It was how she usually did this, this art thing. She usually ended up with as much paint on her as was on the canvas - though she never stained her clothes. She brought a red tipped finger up to her chin, tapping it there as she tilted her head at the painting, leaving a faint red smear where her finger tapped. A faint smile crossed her face as a voice whispered in her ear, Add in the angel . . . The voice was sweet, gentle, with a hint of daydreamer-ness, marking it as the voice she referred to as 'Dreams'. It was one of the more frequent voices that came from no where, though she was forever convinced they were real. What they were, she couldn't justify, but just like the hallucinations . . . they were real. Unfortunately, the pills she had to take drowned out a lot of the voices, fogged her head so it was rare for the hallucinations or voices to slip in. Unfortunately, they had side affects to, leaving the girl drowsy from about 3 to 4:30 pm, giving her severe nightmares if she didn't have a pillow, stuffed animal, or well, anything to cuddle with. She focused back on her work, taking the voice's comment into action, carefully painting an angel in the sky, her arms reaching out to the waiting demon, smiling at how well she fit into the painting. The golden curls of the angel seemed to almost come alive as she painted in high lights and lowlights to give them more definition. It was how she always painted, using natural colors, making the painting as close as possible to a spitting image of reality. It was her passion, her release, her way of staying sane among the chaos. And it did truly help. She smiled faintly, as she looked over the work, before continuing to add in small details, working hard to continue working on covering the majority of the canvas with paint, smiling at how it was coming out. She brushed a strand of her hair from her forehead, leaving a streak of gold paint as she did so, dipping her brush in, before painting some more.

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