She was proud of her work, of course she was. This was perhaps some of Elysium's finest work yet, but if Mr. McCormick were to even look at her wrong, she'd offer to set the paintings on fire if it would earn her even an ounce of his respect. She hated this, hated being dependent on the taste of others for the recognition their work deserved.

"You could be the juiciest plum in the ice box, and someone will still hate plums," her mother would say after her earliest rejections. But those were childhood games. Now, their work was an icebox plum compared to dust and gravel served on chipped plates. The problem was never with her vision -- it was half-assed would-be's putting others off the idea of provocative art in the first place.

But this time would be different. Elyse knew that. She had changed, her perspective had changed. The artist finally had something unique to say, whether or not others would be ready to hear it.

"...so?"