red painting

She was an artist. She painted line for line; stroke for stroke; more and more to the picture on her arms. She had done with such percision – soft and harsh; deep and light. They all added to the masterpiece she was creating.
It was to die for.
And to top it all off, finish what she had started, she drew the final line. A last pop of colour. A splash of red running from her hand down the arm. As she was done she signed it with just one tear.

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