TOBIAS STARES AT THE blank canvas in front of him. They just moved to their new house, which wasn't exactly as big as their enormous mansion, and there weren't any butlers, maids, or guards, but it was definitely homier. It was a home that Tobias had desperately been searching for.
Little Tobi was tasked to unbox most of his things in his new bedroom, but while doing so, he saw some of his art supplies that he stopped using when he turned fifteen. Tobi used to paint in front of their father's window, but now that he's thinking about it, the feeling of painting there was never relaxing like how painting should feel. It felt suffocating, and his father always expected something from it. The feeling was no doubt unpleasant.
"Tobias." Someone calls out from behind him. Tobias turns around an
