The compelling new psychological thriller…
…THE STILL POINT
Venture into the dark psyche of artist Chelsea Greaves in this gripping tale of hidden secrets that bubble to the surface as the truth unfolds…
“The beauty of Art often hides the truth, the artist often hides themselves.”
Curious about her haunting journey and inner demons?
This project could not happen without the support of the following people... Book Baby Publishing... Claudia Leitenberger...
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This project could not happen without the support of the following people... Book Baby Publishing... Claudia Leitenberger... 〰️
“The doorknob, cool beneath my palm, feels like a key to my liberation. With a conscious effort, I remove my hand, letting the endless excuses for inaction drop silently to the floor. The brass key, a symbol of newfound resolve, slips into the lock with a satisfying click. I turn it without falter, my purpose clear. Now, with a deep breath, I open the door, releasing it from its long-held confinement.
The room unfolds slowly, revealing its stark truth. The air is stale, thick with dust, clinging to me like a shroud as I step across the threshold. I push aside the frayed curtain, placing my hand flat against the grimy windowpane. It's cool surface, a tactile echo of childhood. As I close my eyes, the contact draws me into the deepest shadows of my past.”
As I gaze deeper, the palette shifts from soft pastels into dark, brooding tones, creating a visual symphony of hope tangled with despair, of longing entwined with fear. The clock blinks ominously, now frozen at 11:11, casting a ghostly light on my signature etched in the bottom left-hand corner of the painting. This small detail feels like a portal, a threshold to truths I am both desperate to uncover and terrified to face.
Suddenly, the canvas bursts into life. I linger uneasily between the realms of the tangible and the surreal. My quest for understanding erupts within me, like a shutter rattling furiously against fierce midnight gusts. I allow my heavy head to sink into the comforting embrace of my pillow, its contours both soothing and deceptively lulling. A familiar voice whispers, urging me to resist the seductive draw of escape.
