The Masterpiece Painted In My Blood
Language: en
“Say it! What color is this?" My mother’s palm cracked across my cheek, leaving a stinging heat in its wake. I stared at the palette in front of me—a blurred, muddy mess of grays and shadows—and my lips trembled. I couldn’t find the words because I couldn't find the light. "Your father is a world-class painter," she hissed, her voice trembling with a jagged edge of hysteria. "How could his child be colorblind? I’ve taught you this a thousand times. Why can’t you see it?" She gripped my upper arm, her fingers digging into my skin like talons. She was unraveling right in front of me. "If you…