The girl I was died in a pool of my best friend's blood.
I remember the glint of the blade. The mask carved from death itself. The moment hell reached for my soul.
She didn't survive. She couldn't. 

Elaina took her place.
A new name. A trust fund. A blank slate. And trauma festering beneath the surface, waiting for the moment I let my guard down. I thought the danger ended when I escaped. I thought I was safe. 

But safety is an illusion.
Some things don't hunt with noise. They hunt with patience - a waiting game that stretches until fear feels like fate and right and wrong blur into shadow.

He isn't searching for inspiration. I escaped. I ruined his design. Now, he's searching for me. 
The mask is cracking. My tears taste like bitter salt.
And the gallery doors only open for those chosen to become art.