She stepped back and looked at it, the music racing like a river through her veins, white foam and speckled water. The figure wasn’t even close to enough. Bitter maneuvered the wood panel down to the floor, on top of the sheet, so it spilled like a pool at her feet. That felt better, like it was under her hands now. She reached for a brush and a small tub of white casein paint, falling back into the figure, as the piano swept lightly over deep bass notes, over and over again, and the hours went by. Bitter added wax and eggshells, intermittent fragments of smooth gloss within the figure’s coat.
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