blemish - 1.4.

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo

Firo panicked.  There were fourteen seconds left on the timer.  The beeping had sped up, keeping apace with his heartbeat.  "God, God.  Help me!"  Sweat carved through the grime caked on his face, falling to the ground.  Faster.

Six seconds.  A low humming came from the incinerator, shaking, there was no time.  No time.  His breath, faster.  The black splotches on the wall stared silently at him through the uproar.  "No.  No.  No, No!  Stop!!!"

The Time bent.

"Yes, my lord."

Louise stepped out of the air, the drop of blood having changed to two.  Two drops on the floor.  Two bloodlines mixed together.  Firo's eyes widened, still staring at the timer.  One second.  Even his breathing made no sound. The Time had stopped.

"What... did you...?"
"Stopped, my lord."

blemish - 1.3

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise 

Henrietta pursed her lips.  "Louise, there is blood coming from your hand."  The maid produced a speckled handkerchief, curiously coloured red and white, to stem the blood.  Her voice was raspy.  "It's an aftereffect of Time, my lord.  There are streams in my systems that cannot withstand the seals."  Henrietta's smile vanished.  "Would you like me to reset you?"  Louise held up three fingers: index, ring, thumb.  No.  The smile reappeared, and Henrietta stepped back from the Likeness, saying, "Well.  For my first experience of Time, it was quite refreshing.  Is this the only venue?"

Louise restrained the shock from her face.  All of her charges had experienced Time.  None of them had called it refreshing.  Four had fainted.  In the world, Time was not experienced in a linear fashion along with one's life.  Time did not move.  One second of Time allotted to each of those in this world.  No more.  No more was necessary.  And yet this young lord, this... Henrietta, she asked for more.  Life passed when Time passed.  

"It is not, my lord, but your one second has been taken.  Any more, and your life will pass, faster than you imagine."

"Let it pass.  I will be the only one in my family.  I will be the only one in the world."

blemish - 1.2

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise 

"Louise." "Yes, my lord." The doors felt paper-thin in Louise' hands as she pushed, but they would not be moved. She blew softly onto the doorknob, uncovering the keyhole. "My lord, this is the last resting place of the Artist and your Likeness. Are you quite ready to enter?" Henrietta smiled. Was a crooked smile. "I think I am, quite." Louise inclined her head, kneeling down and placing the doorknob against the seal on her neck. Thhh.... Rustles down the hallway. The clicking began anew as the rats fled to their haven. This smile was not crooked. It was beautiful. Henrietta glided through the doors, breaking the second seal. Her maid followed, silently, almost.

The Artist lay under the fallen canvas, lay in a pool of nondescript red, lay next to her.

An upturned corner on the sheet shows her face, perfect, save a small drop of nondescript red on her cheeks, pale and ghastly in the moonlight. A blemish.

Henrietta's dress fluttered as she skipped lightly over the far corner, admiring the face that stared past her at the ceiling. "That... is my Likeness?" "Quite far in the future, my lord. It well becomes you." Louise crouched next to the Artist's shoulders, blew softly onto his face; then, released the fist she had been clenching since called by her lord. The clock began to chime. The stench of a newly rotting body immediately occupied the room. Only the rats did not move. One drop of blood fell from Louise' palm as she closed it. The scent became null, odourless, once again. Louise had moved the Time for one second; but the jarring sensation in her gut, the taste of nothing in her mouth, came from elsewhere. Time was an old experience. But Louise had seen Henrietta's face; in all her years of service, that one face, experiencing one Time for one second, was the only one that had smiled through it.

blemish - 1.1

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise 

The Commissioner stepped into the room.  The clicks and echoes through the room as the rats scattered; the rising sun streaming in through half-glazed windows.  Bending down, he placed a fist into the pool of blood, lifted it.  Threw his fist in an arc.  The black red fell effortlessly onto canvas, whitewall, and carpet alike.  The Commissioner took, with his clean hand, a kerchief out of his trench pocket, wiping his tainted hand clean.  "Thank you for completing the commission."  The words hung in the air.  The Artist's unseeing eyes, open in surprise and resignation, acknowledged the gratitude.  A few coins spilled onto the floor next to his face, payment that would never be used for any other bargain.  Pale and ghastly in the sunlight.

Henrietta glided down the hallway; it was a skill she'd picked up from her mother.  Learning to navigate the floors without sound.  A nice skill.  She peeked over the banister, which reached above her head - only a few inches left to grow.  "Thirteen, mmm?  Well.  I suppose perhaps I can go over to the other side now."  Her hand reached forward, stopped, reached forward.  "Louise?"  The maid came out of the shadows, almost instantly, almost too quickly.  "Yes, my lord."  "Will you accompany me to the other side?"  Louise inclined her head ever so slightly, one eyebrow higher than the other.  "Yes, my lord."  

The Time bent.

blemish - 1.0

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady 

She applies the gloss gently to her lips.  A gentle shine permeates the room.  Long lashes accent the deep, gazing, blue-green eyes, penetrating, revealing.  Voluminous curls fall over her lightly tanned skin, every hair perfectly in place.  Smooth skin, no wrinkles, no imperfections.  Her evening gown contrasts a dark mahogany shade to her skin, hands placed naturally by her sides.  A smile.  All without imperfection.

The Artist put down his pencil.  He smiled back at his creation as the waning sunlight struck the canvas through a drawn window.  The commission was finished.  All drawn from his imagination; all drawn in reminiscence of the Lady.  Six years of age weighed on his brow.  Six years, now finished.  He climbed down the seventy-four stairs and stepped slowly backwards from the canvas, in its eighty feet of majesty.  Up, up.  His gaze rested upon her face, a finished work.  All drawn in pencil, all without imperfection.

The creaking began, slowly at first.  The rats had gnawed the rope thin; they had been attracted by the Artist's rotting food trails and now, unsatisfied, ate at his work.  Pale beams of moonlight spilled upon her smiling face, which tilted, tilted.  The rope's strands were separated.  

The Artist lay under the fallen canvas, lay in a pool of nondescript red, lay next to her.

An upturned corner on the sheet shows her face, perfect, save a small drop of nondescript red on her cheeks, pale and ghastly in the moonlight.  A blemish.