“Rafael, darling; you painted my portrait; well, half of my portrait. May I play with it?”
She lifted the canvas from the easel and held it in front of her face. “Tell me when I get it aligned right.
“Miriam, my love would you snap a shot with your phone?”
She lined everything up just so.

The painting suddenly changed.

The cat died.
Rafael fainted, collapsing on the hardwood floor.
Miriam took the shot.
Desdemona held the painting and laughed before tucking it under her arm and making toward the lift.

Over the course of the next few days she gave up her apartment and relocated to Tillamook.
Rafael never painted again.
Miriam decided that she’d never really loved Arthur and changed the locks on the loft they had shared.
Arthur thought about going to Tillamook but never did.
He started drinking instead.

The cat stayed dead, and never recovered.


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