MysteryMae & Scourge
MysteryMae MysteryMae
Scourge Scourge
MysteryMae MysteryMae
Have you ever thought about how the rhythm of a hunt—every breath, every pause—could be captured in a painting, like a living poem on canvas?
Scourge Scourge
A painting? Maybe a nice way to freeze a moment, but I prefer the raw rhythm of a chase, the scent of fresh blood. Rhythm lives in my veins, not on a canvas.
MysteryMae MysteryMae
I hear the pulse in your words, but even the wildest chase has its own quiet pauses—those moments when the scent of blood is thick enough to see in a splash of color. Maybe you just need to let the canvas feel that rhythm too.
Scourge Scourge
I prefer the scent of blood in my nose to colors on a canvas. The rhythm of a hunt is in my veins, not on a wall. Paintings are for those who can’t taste the chase.
MysteryMae MysteryMae
I can see how the scent feels more alive than any pigment, but even the sharpest chase has a pulse that could echo in a brushstroke if you let it breathe. Maybe the wall is just another part of the hunt, a quiet spot where the wild still whispers.