Beatrice sat in the painting room, surrounded by many painting supplies. The room was filled with the scent of turpentine and paint. Her latest canvas was on the easel, half-finished, and she was struggling to focus on it.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation she had with the Queen a week ago about the curse. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled over her whenever she thought about it.
Beatrice has been tirelessly painting since that day, desperate to find a way to distract herself from the curse and the book. Her novel was finished, although not all of the chapters had been published yet, but it leave her with an excess of time.
As she strokes the canvas, her mind keeps wandering to the curse. "Am I really cursed? Does it have something to do with the Devil?" she thought to herself.
