Painting

Ash sat cross-legged on her floor, staring at the canvas in front of her. She hadn't touched any of her supplies since before Tristan died. Sighing, she shakily picked up her brush and began her work.

Two hours later, she finally gave up, leaving the canvas to dry and going to the bathroom to clean her brushes. After all of that was put away, she sat in the bathtub and began to cry. She couldn't do it. Her hands were ruined beyond repair. She'd been silly to think that she could try to make anything of worth... she was useless, just like the canvas in the other room.