The artist shot herself.

Police enquiries do not reveal much. She lived alone, and was not known to entertain much. The matter is silently closed, as eulogies for her talent pour on media pages.

Her housekeeper has a different story to tell. The unfinished painting in her studio changes colours every day. There was a scarred psyche. There was tremendous angst.There was a tormented soul, and a tormentor. 

Finding the identities, merging or separating them is something a novelist can undertake, not the police with its protocols. The revelation would be a subject of research for all entities though.

27 thoughts on “Unfinished

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