Let me tell you a story. It is a story about love. Romantic love. Familial love. Material love. It is also a story of hate, and a story of betrayal. But also, a story of redemption. A story of respect. A story of pain. But above all of this, it is a story of art. The art paints a picture, a tale of broken hearts and forgiven souls. It sketches the workings of the heart, and in the end the story is not merely about the art, or the picture. It is the art. It embodies the picture.

Once there was a hero. He never wanted anything more in life than to please his mother. But his painting was not ready to come off the easel. His sketch was more terrible than any before him. His painting was to end in a slash of paint across the canvas. A trick, one that ends in death. Maybe so, but he bears it well. He lives through every day, despite the pain that is sure to come. In some ways it already has come. But he bears it, and maybe one day, if the story ends well, he will find happiness.

Once there were two children. A brother, and a sister. To the young boy, his life was his sister. She was the one that kept him going every day. She was the on thing he cares about in the world. So when he was brought news of her death, he collapsed. No longer could he bear this life. He was young, and she was taken from him. Cruelly. Callously. He hated them all. His father. His unknown mother. The cousin that lied to him. Himself. He runs off into the night, hate all that keeps him together. But he realizes that he never truly hated them. Not his father, not his mother. Not his cousin, not even himself. He hates the story. The story who's art had taken the only one who he cared about in this world away from him. Cruelly. Callously. The one that had savagely ripped her from it's entity, and left nothing but an aching hole in his heart. But it was meant to be so, and maybe, just maybe, one day he will find in himself the ability to love again.

Once there was an architect. All she wanted was to build something great. Something to shine through the ages. But her sketch was never kind. A mortal family that hated her. An immortal mother that would never be allowed to spend time with her. A brother destined to betray her. A love whose painting would end in a slash of paint across the canvas. Pride was her fatal flaw, and pride would break her back and have her succumb to the pain of the portrait. But all she had to do was stay strong. Depend on those around her, and one day, she would create something truly extraordinary.

Once there was a traitor. His father left him a long time ago. Left him with a mother who did not truly live. And the day his father did, he was never the same. He hated his father. He would betray everything he knew and loved, just to have revenge. A bitter picture no doubt. But in the end, a hero would save his soul. A hero would show him that possibly, his father had been right to leave him. And maybe, he will die changed.

Once there was a huntress. She had loved once, but he had ripped out her heart when he fell from the mountain. And now, she would live forever with the guilt. She could have stopped his fall. She could have saved him. But she did not. She chose to watch him fall, and he fell harder than most. Her picture would last forever, and would be riddled with that eternal guilt that she despised so much. She only had regret. Her picture would be of a walking dead, one whose drawing never had, and never would, been drawn well.

Once there was a father. He had left his son. He knew his son's fate. A traitor, whose name was to be scorned forever. If he had stayed. Leaving hs son was hard, but it was necessary. When the son turned, it broke his father's heart. Butthe fatherstill loved him. The father had hope, hope that one day his son would forgive him.

Once there was a warrior. One who once thought everything in this life to be a battle. A bitter struggle for victory. Maybe it was her father. Maybe it was the way she was raised. As a warrior, there were two things she despised. Daughters of meddling love goddesses, and cocky, arrogant sea rats. These things kept her from gaining her father's approval. But that changed when she found him. The son of Hermes. One of those meddling love spawn helped her win him over, and suddenly she didn't find them so meddling. And then she died - a swift stroke - and only then, in the face of her tears, could the warrior realize that she had truly respected this daughter of love.

Once there was an inventor. An evil king forced him to build a home for said king's pet monster. The inventor escaped, but at the cost of his son. The king never stopped looking for him. Then one day, he was found. He killed the king. It was a just compensation for his flesh and blood. He found a nephew. A brilliant child, wise beyond his years, and the old inventor was jealous. That night, there was a brand on his skin. The brand of a murderer. He ran from justice, hiding throughout the years. One day, a hero found him. This hero would be his savior. The inventor sacrificed himself, but not for the hero. Not for the gods. Not for his dog. He sacrificed himself as a payment, to complete the story. A payment for sins of the past. One day, he may be able to right himself with his nephew.

Once there was an almighty ruler. He ruled well, but could never seem to measure out the consequences of his more...passionate decisions. The other often misunderstood him. They thought that if only they ruled in his stead, none of the mistakes which he had made over the years would have happened. None of them realized. They would never understand the pressure. The need to accept loss. It pained him, to be alone through the years. Even his wife Believed him to be incompetent. But it was necessary, just as all things on the canvas are.

Once there was a girl. She had no ties to the gods. She did not even believed they existed. But she understood the painting. She understood that the pain of the drawn is for the greater good. That one day, life will be good. Devoid of pain. She never had to be a part of this painting. She could have avoided the sorrow. But she was an artist, and she was drawn to the story.

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