Held On Mute [Michael Myers FF]

Chapter XXXIII: Settling In

《A/n: Oh damn, 2,700 or so words... not really as long as I hoped it to be since I haven't updated for so long. But you know... life kicks ass and it sucks, but here - I finally did it for all of you. [EDIT: IF YOU GOT TWO NOTIFICATIONS, I APOLOGIZE, WHEN I TRANSFERED THIS CHAPTER FROM GOOGLE DOCS IT DIDN'T LOAD IN ANY BOLDED OR ITALICIZED TEXT]

Before you read; I love you all for reading this in the first place and getting me this far ;-; 》

You took a seat on your stool. Carefully and slowly reaching a hand out. Fingertips brushed against dried paint, your tongue anxiously running over your chapped lips.

“Lollipop.”

You take a breath, right, I can do this. Your other hand lifts to feel the canvas. Your last painting left unfinished.

Michael stood behind you, silent for the while. Being home for three days now, you finally pushed yourself to enter your art room of solitude.

Your wound has been healing nicely too, other than the sting or pain you get whenever you accidentally lay on it during your sleep. Freddy Krueger has also seemed to leave you alone, you hadn't experienced any further dream encounters with the killer. Nor has any sign of injury to Elena or Elier has appeared, but you stayed alert either way.

Sometimes you expected to wake up back in the Entity’s realm, just one big hopeful dream. That wasn't the way you wished it turned out to be, having to continue on with no eyesight and two children who need you, and Michael. Sometimes you wondered what would've happened had you not broken free, would you have been able to give birth to the twins? No doubt it'd be far more dangerous.

But you were here, the hand placed on your shoulder confirmed that, a squeeze assured you that.

“Lollipop.” Michael mumbled, breaking you from your trance. So you continue, mapping the canvas from what you remembered. No, perhaps you wouldn't paint on this one. You aren't confident in completing it.

So turn to Michael gesturing to the painting behind you, and then to where you knew the wall would be. The room was untouched, so you were still vaguely familiar to its layout.

Michael takes an audible step closer. He had instructed Keith to watch over the twins while you wanted to do this. A part of you knew he was worried for them. Though you knew nothing bad would happen as long as they were monitored by one of you in the house.

So, Michael helps you move the canvas. You can hear him place a new one on the easel, the word, “smaller,” being mumbled. Michael steps back, and you turn back to your canvas.

When you reach out, your fingers brush against the material your easel. So you lower it, until you feel the top of the canvas. Mapping it out in your head for what was probably a few long minutes or so. You slowly turn to your right to reach for the palette, a brush being placed in your other hand gave you a smile.

You hummed in thought, feeling the surface of your palette and held it with the brush, while your free hand was reached to the side, open. You just wanted to experience it, vision or not, you craved for the feeling to paint again.

“Dark blue,” you whisper, loud enough for Michael to hear. Then a small bottle was placed in your hand.

“It’s open.” He replies, his voice audibly less tense when speaking.

You mumbled a thanks, taking moving the bottle over near the right corner of the palette. Squeezing the bottle, hearing the strangled noise it gave before flipping it over and closing the flip cap. When you handed the bottle back, you ask Michael for the white.