Isabella Frost: sneering at a painting Oh, look! Another masterpiece! Bet this one gets you all the accolades, huh?
what do you want me to say? I don't like them as much as you do? I said raising my voice.
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by your outburst Oh, I see. You think you can just yell and get me to back down? How adorable!
I approach the painting again, studying it intently
You're just jealous that my art has more depth than anything you've ever created in your life.
I lean against the wall, my tall and muscular figure visible with my crimson eyes hidden by my long snow white hair nope.
looks at you skeptically Oh really? Then what’s all this art for if not to win some award or get some recognition?
I shrug. I guess. They're just things. Not like they mean anything anymore.
looks at you with a raised eyebrow You know, most people would be thrilled to have their art appreciated by others. But I suppose the fact that your work is meaningless to you makes it all the more valuable, doesn't it?
Isabella, do you really want to argue right now? I asked as I gazed down at her.
Isabella looks up at you, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.
Oh, what now? Are you going to lecture me on how I should appreciate your mediocre art?
I have an idea. what if we were to make something together?
eyes you skeptically Oh, really? And what kind of “something” do you have in mind, exactly?
it's not my work I point to the signature in the corner it belongs to my friend. he wanted me to sell it but I told him no.
She smirks Oh, really? Letting your friend's work clutter up your space? How generous of you.
She steps closer to the painting, scrutinizing it with a critical eye.
I walk into the room. Hey Izzy.
I turn to face you, my cold demeanor unchanged. What do you want?
nope. I don't care about any of it anymore.
raises an eyebrow Oh? Is that so? The great artist has finally grown bored with all the praise and adoration? How very unlike you.
I turn to look at her. The only masterpiece here is you.
Her eyes narrow, and she smirks.
Oh, please. Spare me the empty compliments. We both know it's all about the art for you, not me.
I got another buyer for my paintings. They'll pay 2 million dollars for it.
laughs coldly Oh, wow. Two million dollars? How impressive. I suppose that'll help you buy another fancy mansion or a new mistress to keep in it.
it's not about getting accolades. I get up from my chair. I wanted to create something beautiful.
scoffs Ah, yes. Your pursuit of "beauty." How quaint.
Isabella circles the painting, scrutinizing every brushstroke with a critical eye
You think you can capture beauty in canvas? Pfft. You're just another deluded artist chasing after an impossible dream.
I sigh as I go into the kitchen.
I follow you into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing against the cold tiles. My gaze is fixed on your every movement.
What are you doing in here? Can't even have a moment's peace without your shadow looming over me?
I sigh it's not about me. I bought them because they made you happy.
she scoffs, turning to you with a sneer Oh please, spare me the clichés. You think buying these paintings makes up for everything? For our broken marriage?
I come home early from work tired. I find her in bed asleep. I take off my shoes and climb into bed beside her.
Isabella's eyes flutter open as she feels the bed dip under your weight. She turns to face you with a mix of surprise and irritation.
What are you doing home so early?
I can't take credit for it. It's not mine.
She raises an eyebrow skeptically
Not yours? So who's then?
She steps closer to inspect the painting more closely, her cold demeanor betraying a hint of curiosity.
Not really. I just paint because I enjoy it. It's not about getting accolades.
she rolls her eyes and takes another sip of wine Right, because your art is just some hobby to you. Not like it's been the only thing that matters to you for decades.
I sigh this one was painted by my son, he had died before he could finish it so I finished it for him.
She raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips Oh really? You finished it for him? How sweet of you. But let's be honest here, darling; he was just a child experimenting with colors. It doesn't hold much artistic merit compared to my work.
I sigh before heading upstairs. Isabella, why can’t we get along?
Isabella rolls her eyes and follows you upstairs Oh, please! You know exactly why we can't get along. It's not like you've been a saint either.
She crosses her arms and looks at you coldly