[ Sylar just smiles, digging on through the drawer to pick out the sketchbook. There are some of his own paintings in here now, beside Peter's. A painting he'd made of himself being electrocuted, for one, and another of them both sitting by Versaid Lake, radioactivity melting the snow and ice around them. Another of Peter glowing in the dark, ash floating down from the sky. He had torn out several paintings too and destroyed them, knowing that they would happen but afraid of them too.
Paintings of a blonde girl with her head split open.
There wasn't a single plain sheet of paper left, not even on the backs of the other paintings, and Sylar frowned before setting it back in its drawer, scanning the room irritably. ]
[action;]
Paintings of a blonde girl with her head split open.
There wasn't a single plain sheet of paper left, not even on the backs of the other paintings, and Sylar frowned before setting it back in its drawer, scanning the room irritably. ]
Do you have any more paper?