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‘Oh right, that sounds familiar. Why are there so many evil stepmothers in those stories?’ Steph leaned back in her seat.
I laughed. ‘This one’s particularly gruesome. The stepmother kills the boy and feeds him to his father.’
‘Yuk! Murder and cannibalism, what happened to happy ever after?’
‘Fairy tales aren’t always what Disney would have us believe. It’s not like my usual commissions, this one’s not really for children.’ I grinned.
Steph laughed. ‘I should think not, from what you’re telling me!’
Later, after the call ended, I started to paint.
The house was quiet, the cat asleep on the sofa, apparently no longer distressed. I glanced outside. The night was arctic clear, the snow sparkling. As I stood in front of the kitchen table, brush in hand, I felt calmer, happier, I was in control with a paintbrush. Time didn’t matter, here on my own, surrounded by nature’s very own blank canvas.
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