I clung to the edge of the sink, my body wracked with spasms as I vomited nothing but bile. The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom cast my shadow against the wall, a twisted echo of myself. As I steadied my shaking hands under the cold tap, the sharp rap at my studio door sliced through the silence.

"Vera! It's Aunt Clara! We need to talk about the rent, and your well-being!" Her voice, laced with worry and authority, intruded into my secluded world.

Hesitant, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, considering whether to face her. But then, a soft murmur pulled my attention away. Turning slowly, my eyes fell upon the portrait of May. To my astonishment and horror, the painting began to transform. May's delicate features shifted, her painted lips curling into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with an uncanny life.

"Don't listen to her, Vera," May's voice, melodic and alluring, filled the room. "She can't see the world as we do. She doesn't understand."

Transfixed, I watched as May's painted form leaned closer, as if breaking the boundaries of her canvas prison. "I've missed you," she continued, her voice a hypnotic caress. "You're special, Vera. Don't let them pull you back into a world where you don't belong."

Aunt Clara's persistent knocks turned into a dull background rhythm, inconsequential compared to the siren call emanating from May's lips. "Stay with me. Create with me," May urged, her voice weaving around me like a seductive mist.

Torn between fear and fascination, I stepped closer to the canvas. May's eyes followed my every move, her expression one of empathy and longing. "Trust me, Vera. They'll never understand what we share," she whispered.

Aunt Clara's voice from outside grew more desperate. "I'm getting you some help, Vera. I'll be back on Friday with groceries and to check on you."

But her words were drowned out by the intensity of May's gaze, the surreal connection that now bound us. "She'll try to change you," May warned. "But we can create a world where you're free, where your talent can flourish."

I found myself nodding, lost in the depth of May's painted eyes. The room around me seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of her voice, a melody that promised a haven from the harsh judgments of a reality I no longer felt a part of.

As Aunt Clara's footsteps receded, a sense of relief washed over me. I was alone again, but not truly alone – May was with me, her presence a comforting echo in the stillness of my studio.

I sat before the canvas, my mind adrift in a sea of possibilities. May's words echoed in my heart, a siren song luring me further away from the shore of reality. 

In the fading light of the studio, exhaustion washed over me like a tidal wave. My body, long neglected and starved of proper care, could no longer support the fervent pace I had set. I felt my strength ebbing away, each breath a labored effort. My vision blurred, the room spinning as I staggered, and then darkness claimed me.

//

I awoke on the cold floor, disoriented, the bitter taste of bile in my mouth. As my eyes struggled to focus, a figure materialized from the shadows — May, no longer confined to her canvas, stood before me, more imposing than I remembered. Her eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding.

"Vera," she said, her voice forceful, "you've finally done it. " Her form, though ethereal, carried a weight, an undeniable presence.

I glanced at the painting, now devoid of her figure, a hollow void amidst the chaos of colors. My mind raced, struggling to grasp this impossibility. Yet, here she was, as tangible as the paint-stained floor beneath me.

May's hand reached out, her touch cold and commanding. "You can't stop now," she insisted. "We have so much more to create, so many more boundaries to break."

Her words, though whispered, echoed with an urgency that brooked no argument. This was not the May I remembered, this May was a force, a manipulative entity born from the darkest corners of my psyche.

"Listen to me, Vera," she continued, her voice hardening. "Only you and I understand this world. Your aunt, the others, they want to pull you back into their mundane reality. You cannot let them."

I felt a twinge of fear, a sense that the May before me was something else, something more sinister than a mere memory or hallucination. Yet, the part of me that had given into the moment, that had reveled in the breaking of my own sanity, clung to her presence as a lifeline.

"You need me, Vera," May asserted, her form growing more solid, more real in the dim light. "Without me, you're nothing but a lost, broken artist. With me, you can transcend."

Her words wrapped around me, a cage of conviction and influence. I knew, somewhere deep within, that this was a creation of my own mind, a hallucination as real as the paintings that lined my walls. But in my fractured state, the line between reality and illusion had long since vanished.

I nodded, succumbing to her will, to the part of myself that yearned for a companion in this isolated world I had created. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

May's smile was triumphant, chilling. "Create with me, Vera. Let's show them the reality they could never understand."

As I rose to my feet, guided by her insistent pull, the studio transformed around us, a realm where the impossible became possible, where my hallucinations dictated the very fabric of my existence. I was no longer just Vera Stahl, the artist. I had become something else, something both magnificent and terrifying, lost in the drift between worlds.