The Art of Vindication (Open)

Havenworth was not a name that had yet made its mark on the art world. But Shelia was trying. It was her passion and her calling. The one area of her life that never disappointed was her art. Oil on canvas and clay were her chosen mediums, though she dabbled in others, these were the two that yielded beneath her hand, brought about a new creation that held the distinct Havenworth style.

Of late her paintings had been darker, more blurred, impressionisitic and her sculptures bordered on the macabre. A reflection of her life she supposed. When she turned her back to the opening of the small booth where she was displaying her art, a wan smile crept across her face. A reflection of her pain, of her messes, of her inability to find a niche. Of her constant state of want.

Craving what she could never have seemed to be the rut she had carved out for herself. Was it the need to feel something, anything? So feeling a deep longing was better than being numb? A ridiculous idea considering she knew that the other half of herself was hardly numb. Amora felt everything. She had the ability to tap into a person's very soul and find what tempted them the most, using her charm to beguile them toward her way of thinking. Manipulation, domination, and satiation were the order of Amora's day.

Shelia's day, however, was bursting forth to be rather dull. An art show usually was for the artist. A line of booths set along a sidewalk outside the Inn allowed customers to stroll casually along, browsing the work of the artists who had yet to become so successful that they had no need to peddle their wares. Shelia Havenworth dressed in jeans, a button down shirt with sleeves rolled up and untucked looked for all the world like your everyday starving artist. But it wasn't the money she needed, it was the recognition. She had all the money she could ever use, but each day that passed she felt less and less significant. Like she was fading into the background of life, becoming an unnoticed part of the tapestry that few people could distinguish from all the rest.

She blamed the men in her life for that. All of them. Even the ones who succumbed to her charms were in effect a part of the problem, and a reason she was right now aching inside. The wan smile changed, grew more cunning, and the glint within her eyes grew sharper, less dreamy and more predatory.

Someday...someday she would see all the injustices done to her..righted. Someday she would be vindicated for the sins piled at her feet by those who had no idea what drove the woman. Someday, those same people would be weeping and gnashing their teeth in regret.

There. There it was. Passion.

Nobody in the world of art was ignorant to who this woman was. Wylie. She'd admired the woman for the past several years. Rather, admired the woman's body. From the top of the dark head, down to the more delicate parts, even the tips of the toes that were now encased in classic heeled shoes.

The awakened Amora knew instantly who was entering her playpen. Loki. The trickster. Oh Thor, what have you done?

"Shelia Havenworth you are correct. And you, are Wylie.." No last name needed. The first name said it all.

There had to be time taken to appreciate the view. A visible scrape down the body that had been immortalized in every conceivable form of art. No artist in their right mind would pass up the chance to fantasize about how many ways they could recreate the woman.

Shelia's nose tipped up then, looking through a veil of lashes while the smile that toyed along the full mouth brought to bloom an understanding that had nothing to do with art.

"Cerrano, everyone who cares anything of art, has heard of him. " A step closer, rounding Wylie to pass against her back with just the merest brush of her own body. The tall blonde would be considered Nordic in origins by anyone's definition, and now that statuesque female leaned near Wylie's ear from behind.

"Tell me, Wylie, Cerrano told you to come. You always do what you're told? Or are there other, more compelling reasons that brought you here?"

"Do you, my Shelia?"

A sequence of things happened at that simple question.

At the burst of energy from Wylie, Shelia quietly gasped. While the beauty spoke, Shelia heard and comprehended the words.

Like rapid clips from a movie preview, she saw them. The Trickster and the Enchantress. Expressions of laughter on their features, wicked delights shared between them, with Thor at the center. Shelia's body shook with the onslaught, inwardly reeling with the new revelations of the recently awakened.

Outwardly it was mere seconds in the overall span of a lifetime, but those mere seconds changed Shelia Havenworth as definitively as the day Thor awakened her, brought her into awareness. This...this brought that awareness to a sharpened clarity of understanding.

The touch at her hair, the simple brushing away of a blonde strand brought Shelia back to the here and now, back to the human form she inhabited. Though a change had occurred in the icy blue eyes.

Breathlessly she answered. "Cerrano can be overly dramatic, but in this case, he likely is unaware that even his penchant for embellishing falls far short..." The eyes tore from Wylie to follow the female's gaze to one of her dark works of the recent weeks.

"Art mimics life, or so they say. If one looks close enough, they will find endless meanings in the artwork of one singular being. Interpretations become all the rage, everyone imposing their own ideas upon the object, but in the end, it is only the artist who knows what they were thinking, feeling....seeing..at the time..."

A slow smile came. Normally, Shelia would have been looking around, to be sure no one was about, that she was having a conversation unheard by others, but suddenly none of that mattered. She stepped closer, and maybe the reason she said it was to further her career, or maybe it was because she wanted a reason to be near Wylie for a while longer, or maybe it was a reason Shelia herself did not understand, but Amora, the Enchantress understood full well, or maybe it was all of those reasons.

"You do understand that walking up to an artist, flaunting yourself, is the highest form of teasing...." The smile continued, Shelia ensuring there was no more than a breath between them.

"You know I want to paint you, to place your image in clay, to immortalize for the world how I see you, right here, right now while you so casually engage me. It will haunt my dreams, and worry at my mind, so, Wylie...how long must I wait?"

To say she was captivated was certainly one of the top understatements of the century. The telltale signs could never be missed by one as astute as Wylie. Widened pupils, a lapse in her breathing that made it irregular, and the beginnings of a flush that accented the pale coloring of the artist.

A sweep of her pale gaze down the alluring form of Wylie brought words issuing out in response.

"Oh I think I could teach you many things, but teasing? You have perfected it to a fine art, my lovely Wylie..more complete than any I've experienced...."

Covet. The emphasis on that word was enough to sear through Shelia's soul. A word that was the very foundation of her existence. In any form. She coveted like a professional, on so many levels, so hearing Wylie admit such a trait brought low, husky laughter. The kind that inspired and sparked curiosity in the hearer. Speaking of hearing.....had she just heard the beauty now teasing her mercilessly correct?


Wylie just flopped out on the table for Shelia the offer of a lifetime. The kind that artists dreamt of and melted for, the kind some even feared considering. There was no mistaking; she heard the woman correctly.

For a moment, Shelia felt her entire world shift. The pieces of her life that had been no more than shards of darkness began to catch glimpses of light, refracting them into colors and vibrancy that had been missing for so long. Hope had long been missing, but it was familiar, hope whether it be for light or dark, was still hope and it fed a person's vitality

Just as Wylie was feeding Shelia's now.

"Wild horses could not keep me away from painting you, Wylie. A fingernail, a singular hair on your head, or the drop of a tear from those lashes....it matters not. " Try as she might, Shelia could not keep the rise of every response prior to this from reaching fuller height.

She nearly felt her mouth water from the anticipation alone. The business side of her brain was not completely floundering in the wonder of Wylie, however, so she continued on with the particulars.

"I accept. Your trust that I will not..take advantage of such an opened ended offer is honoring." The tip of her tongue peeked between her teeth as she smiled.

"At least, no advantage as far as the number of sittings I will require..."