#canvased

Deciding exactly how to embellish the wall surfaces is an enjoyable and also occasionally bewildering predicament for individuals. Some individuals enjoy the procedure of designing, of choosing points to present around the room and on the wall surfaces. Other people would cheerfully offer the whole task to another person or leave the space sparsely furnished with basic white walls. Canvas wall art can play a significant component in obtaining those wall surfaces embellished, once an ideal and also pleasing paint shade has actually been chosen and used. Canvased art is a great option in wall surface style. The options for specifically what the canvas art will be are varied. There makes certain to be something for every person, and if there is not, custom-made options wait for. Whether customers get the art work online or from a regional shop, the choices for readymade images are many. From pop art subjects with vibrant shades and stylish subjects to nature scenes of all seasons, the opportunities are unlimited. Selecting wall decoration can be as easy as surfing an on-line store and also choosing something to have delivered to the door to try.

Fragile bones and paper skin: That’s what she sees in the mirror.

She despises it. The folds, the wrinkles and dips and creases that were not there twenty years ago, surface crinkling and leaving her once beautiful features marred and warped. Hands like old wood, gnarled and crooked, disguising the deftness with which she still works, the grace with which those damaged fingers do not give justice. She is a master! She should not be withering, fading away like pages in a long forgotten book, creaking and groaning and curdling in on herself until she finally collapses six feet under, all her hard work going with her.

But she does.

Her reputation doesn’t help. Sorceress, she-devil, demon, witch… She rarely goes into the little village her cottage is just out of the way of, and when she does… well, let’s just say she’s had to test her temper more than once. Mothers hold their babies a little closer to their breasts when she passes. Merchants are wary of selling her their findings. Children of the village dare each other to run up and touch the old witch’s house; they say one finger to her door will turn you into a frog.

(Which, obviously, isn’t true. Magic is difficult and time consuming. She won’t waste it on foolish children and their petty games.)

It’s the age, she decides. The lines that show on her face, the stoop in her walk, the crackling of her own voice, grating in her ears. The old are cause for more concern. They are senile, out of their heads, lost to their own impending doom. Gravity weighs them and pulls them, bringing them closer and closer to the earth, just biding its time until it can pull them down straight into the earth once more. No one cares where a young and beautiful woman comes from, where she’s going, who her family is, if she has any. No, thoughts rarely go beyond their own beauty, the enticing gaze they set forth into the world for men to snatch up and sample. But an old maid? Her gaze is a threat, an abnormality, and abnormalities must be eradicated or isolated, so as not to taint the rest of the population.

It takes many years for her to finally realize this, come to terms with it…. and by that time she is slipping. She feels her bones crack and ache, her hands shake occasionally. She cannot lose her abilities; she will no longer be the old maid.

So she sets to work.

Unfortunately, it takes time. Time she itches to get back, but she forces herself to be patient; she must do this perfectly, plan this perfectly, or else all will go wrong. Fortunately, aging gives her one advantage: She has learned the art of waiting. So she waits. She waits, and she works, and villagers on the outskirts of town swear to all heaven that they can see lights flickering in the old cottage in the night, a whirlwind of colors shining through her windows. But if anyone cared— if anyone dared— to go in and ask the old lady what she was doing, they would only find a silent, normal woman swinging back and forth in her rocking chair, knitting and perhaps singing a merry tune to chase the terrors of the night away.

Luckily, a normal woman was one thing she is not.

The spell is finished in a month. It is a month of tried and tested patience, but under the light of a full moon, with a final incantation, she knows it is complete. Despite her outward frailty, her eyes shine bright with an almost mad longing as she raises the bowl of the potion, and presses it to her lips.

A week later, the villagers realize they have seen neither hide nor hair of the old witch lady in quite a while. Despite her reputation, despite the odd, unearthly presence she holds about her, townspeople soon come knocking on her door. And they keep knocking. They knock until, after some debate, one young man kicks it in, and finds… absolutely nothing. No hair out of place. Herbs and flowers hang neatly from their hooks; dainty wooden figurines line shelves along one wall. A spoon and bowl lie neatly on the countertop. No hair seems out of place. Speculation arises. Some say she wandered into the woods and died. Some say she turned into a bat and flew away. Others are quietly relieved, glad of the absence of the old woman and her odd presence. Still, gossip about a lady not many knew can only go so far. The townspeople soon forget it, moving on to other topics, though no one touches the cottage; many say it’s haunted, and that you can still see the flickering sometimes at night, the ghost of the old witch lady.