Decaying Dolls and Redeeming Feathers
"They say the world is a masterpiece, but to me, it has always been a child’s messy scribble, chaotic, faceless, and unfinished. Only in the cold, porcelain silence of my dolls did I find perfection. Now, I have seven days to paint my exit. I thought I was ready to be the girl who finished her own canvas, until a shadow walked in with a face I could actually see."
In the basement of a house that smells of vanilla and drying oil paint, Hana lives among the pure. To her, the living are nothing more than blurred silhouettes, but her dolls, her beautiful, stationary dolls are the only things with souls. With terminal cancer ticking down a two-week deadline, Hana has reached a quiet, chilling acceptance. Her death isn't a tragedy; it is her final exhibition.
Then comes Night.
An enigmatic shadow with eyes like a storm present at night, Night is an Angel of Death serving a three-year penance for a sin she cannot name. Her mission is a divine paradox: she must protect a life that is destined to shatter in seven days.
Bound by a contract that defies the "life-clock," the reaper and the artist are forced into a singular space. One is running out of time; the other is trapped by it. In a world of fading light, they will discover that the most vivid colors are often found in the darkness of the end.
Seven days to breathe. Three years to atone.
The art of death is finally beginning.
