The canvas was pristine.
There was much to consider before starting. Chido hated jumping into things unprepared, and art was no exception to this rule. She looked at the picture again - the five men standing shoulder to shoulder, each more eager than the last.
With the tap of her finger she zoomed in on their expressions, the confidence which couldn’t hide the truth, plain to see, if one would care to.
And she did.
The rage bubbling beneath the surface.
Paranoia gnawing at the soul.
The thoughtless arrogance
Possessive, greedy hands.
A smile twisted by deceit.
It only served to assure Chido of the wisdom of her choice. Have they thought her weak for stepping aside? So be it. By the end she might be the last one left alive, and that, in her book, was a greater treasure than any promise of power.
“There is much to do still.” She whispered to herself, reaching for the coal. With quick, practised motions, the Zabrak started drawing what would be the base for her piece. It was nothing more than a rough sketch for now, but with her mind’s eye she could already see what kind of painting it would become.
A statement.
“You’d be proud, Master.”