The morning had been going well. Too well in fact. Her beloved hadn’t torn the facade they were keeping between them yet. Had he decided to forgive himself for the gaffe of parading his delectable body for her greedy eyes to feast upon? She hoped so. Removing the cameras would be impossible at this point. Once someone receives an inch, …

Baths were lovely. All the stress and worries of the day would just melt away under the steam. He could fall asleep any moment. Sleep actually sounded nice right about now. He got out, lightly dried himself and tied the towel around his hips. He felt as if he was forgetting something as he walked out the door. The shiver …

It was the first time her beloved had invited her to his home. The fact that it was a home she had bought for him made it all the sweeter. This had actually happened sooner that she had planned for. She had hoped the first time she would visit would be as a lover, not as a friend. They had …

She couldn’t remember a time in her life when closing her eyes meant anything else but his smile, his laughter, his whispers. Her dreams were filled with him. She had assumed most of her childhood that that was how everyone woke up: sweet voice singing in their ears, arms stretched to reach for another. Her world had been destroyed when …

He woke up with a headache he hadn’t felt in years. The lights were too bright, the noise of the TV too loud and his neck felt numb. He had passed out on the sofa. What had he been thinking? Tristan didn’t drink. His body didn’t have the built-up tolerance that his previous host had. He got up. He had …

Of course, drinking outside was not an option. He disliked socializing at the best of times, let alone when drunk and likely to be unwillingly accompanied by even more drunks at some bar. So here he was, raiding the cabinets of his kitchen for wine, all the while mentally cursing his patron/stalker. He was well into his second bottle when …

“The Good Queen” had been received quite well these past few months. So had “Her Husband” and “Her Child.” Tristan still did not know what strange muse had possessed him that he was making an entire series on her. He often did paint memories of his previous lives. Sometimes, he even displayed them for public viewing. But it was of …

It had only taken a week for him to become used to the surveillance. Except for watching him constantly (with minor privacy allowed in the bathroom), his patron/stalker had done nothing else untoward. He had expected some type of contact by now. Wasn’t that how stalkers behaved toward their obsession? Didn’t they escalate their behaviour if ignored? To educate himself …

It was evening by the time he entered the house. He had needed to buy too many necessities that Tristan had not known existed. Not just food and spices but utilities and kitchen appliances. He hadn’t apprenticed under a master chef for his cooking skill to go to waste. He started putting everything in place before he could make himself …

It was a beautiful painting. “The Old House” was hung proudly in the Gotthard Gallery, the wing for emerging artists. It was bold, it was a mix of classic and modern. The lines and forms gave it a nostalgic feel, but the colours were bright, messy and fell all over in blues and greens and purples. “Tristan Lewis” was shown …