David had a gift. Willow had a secret.
At first, it was a whispered revelation in the dark. It was paint smeared on canvas. It was color staining a cheek. He was the painter, and she was his muse who carried a storm of painful colors in her eyes. David loved her from the start. He knew Willow was supposed to be his. But the world had other ideas. Childhood ended. Innocent love grew bitter. Secrets were spilled, and death...