"W....whatever you're doing, kid, I don't think it's gonna make a difference. Maybe you should take a closer look at the picture before you do anything rash?" The Joxter balked at the young man and his drawn weapons. What was wrong with humans, anyways?

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[i]The paintings did indeed emit a thick, uncomfortable aura of distaste, as if they detested the eyes that viewed them. There's more to them than this sickening, malicious intent, however.

If you were, by any chance, to take a closer look at the paintings on the walls, you might recognize scenes from books or movies or television programs that you've viewed at some point in your lifetime. It might Moby Dick, or Sherlock Holmes, or even Santa Claus.

One might depict an historical event, as in a portrait of Martin Luther King Jr., or the assassination of Caesar.

However, they might not recognize the scenes at all. Yet still, the paintings seemed normal.

Until your eye catches the oddball. The one that's someone you know--a girl you've talked to in school, your father, your brother. A scene personal to yourself....or at least, you thought it was. And on top of this, what's flesh and blood to one in this room is ink and paper to another. Your mother might just be a dead character in a good book to the man standing next to you. The portrait of a man in a frayed jacket, the peaceful expression of Ophelia carved onto his fair face, the blue rose clutched in his folded hands, it all might mean nothing to you. It might mean everything to girl in red.

Have you ever thought you were living in a storybook?[/i]