She stood in rigidness like forces of the world made her to lean in that direction. Her head tilted to make the pose.
Breathe was adding rhythm to the music that was played in the background.
The darkness yielded around her but the aura overpowered the negativity.
The age old shrills explain that masterpiece is created in solitude and sorrow. The entity is embalmed in years of sweat and perseverance but attains near perfection only when soul seeks in distress.
Nobody has been able to define perfection. It is in the perception of human mind which switches between the mediocre and hastiness.
She tried to overwhelm herself in this insanity. The stench of power and pride that was instilled over the generations of her family made her legs and hands work in the way she commanded.
She never knew if the heart made conversations with her but always squeezed out the thoughts that entered her head. She thought with her heart and felt with the brain. It was animosity within her for not achieving but she didn’t know what the achievement was in the first place.
Her masters and elders told her that the ultimatum was the masterpiece. People have lost in labyrinth of fate to conquer this pseudo award. To be lost in character and fame. To be aroused with mixed entities of materialistic and magic moments. To not understand the path but love the way it turns. To quench the thirst that was built of passion and predominance.
The dead end of all conquests was the lustful and imaginary award; the masterpiece.
The sounds of appreciation brimmed the hall. Her body didn’t move. Her eyes didn’t see but the music of applaud filled her.
The seeker was the fool for she sought for the illusion of recognition.
Muscles flexed and she moved to welcome the masterpiece.
The man’s biggest prize didn’t lie in the mazes and dungeons, Not in the perseverance and passion. Never in the emotion and feelings.
It was buried deep in the place where no other man could touch.
She knew it right then.
It was within her, the masterpiece.