Chapter 2: Dolly

Eurydice Rous Remis stood as the country's youngest famous artist, a master in the fields of art. Reaching the world's new record of the most published arts that made it into the world's most famous Galleria. At a young age, her skills have always been acknowledged by both young and old, amateurs and masters, adored and envied. This made her the subject of people's talk, never resting and never-ending. It wasn't until at the age of 14 when Eurydice Remis had not made 6 but a total of 1270 finished works in a span of an entire year that the media had started flooding news about this young prodigy. Her pictures scattered left and right in billboards, screens, and papers- how could such a young person dedicate day and night in front of the canvas? Jealous and curious people could not believe that were ever possible. So there was only one reason behind this. That very week, a scandal broke out in the News of how this young prodigy had come to be a narcissistic liar, faking paintings and paying other artists in secret to achieve such a demanding dream. In such a short amount of time, people had come to believe it so. That was the only explanation for the 1270 paintings. That very week, almost every screen and media in the country broke in red letters, all screaming: Fake Artist NAC Winner, Eurydice Rous Remis- in bold letters. Some people even stepped forward to claim that they had been paid by her a high commission fee and for their silence, a total of at least 10 people had also jumped at the opportunity to speak out. Needless to say, a number of angry and disappointed netizens were not happy with this disturbing reveal, as if they had been betrayed by a trusted person. In a span of three weeks, the fame and adoration she once had had vanished into air, leaving only the sickening label of a Fake. Like a coin tossed into the ocean, it had only sunk so deep, forever lost out in the water left for it to rust. Much to her mother's worst fear, the backlash had not ended there, as if the rust had scattered all over the silver coin, the hostility had also followed Eurydice's personal life. It had gotten worse to the point where people would spend every wake of their lives sending out hate messages and death threats towards the young teenager. Every second, the phone left untouched with bits of splattered paint on the phone case would buzz as the screen flashed of a new creative threat. Eurydice couldn't help but almost feel impressed with what these people could come up with. Her mother felt otherwise and so she snatched the device, shut it off and disposed of it at the top shelf of the cabinet, hidden away for god knows how long until Eurydice would snatch it again. In the midst of this disturbance, Eurydice had only trapped herself within her room, not having a care for the world and their forensics. A number of canvases spread through out every corner of her bed, floors, walls and even the window sill had held an at least almost finished product of her work. For her, even this number wasn't enough at all. Within that year, and the year before, this young girl who had been accused of a tragic scandal and forced to submit towards being the subject of hate had only continued to spare every second of the day to paint, eating once a day, sleeping for only an hour. Not even the blood stopped her from gripping the worn out brush she held in her wounded hands. Desperately clinging onto the canvas as if she were to stop could immediately end her life. That very night, Eurydice had passed out in exhaustion as blood trickled down her nose and suffered a sever health ailment for the next week, surrounded by the works done by worn-out hands and the blank face of a man she had never met. Like moth to flame, the news spread like wildfire about this situation. An ambulance had been called in a frenzy as soon as Eurydice's mother found her passed out in her room and she was immediately brought to the hospital. But what disturbed the medics as they barged into the room was not the sick child on the ground but the eerie number of paintings of a singular unknown man, even the beauty of the works could not erase the sickening clench in their stomach as one in the same thought came into their head- Her entire scandal had been false.