It really was just as Ed had said: she was obsessed with painting.
Just because the person involved didn't explain things didn't mean Fu Qian couldn't look for himself.
Although this room probably hadn't originally been a prison cell, it was still extremely bare at a glance.
There was only one wooden table and one wooden chair, along with boxes, cabinets, and assorted odds and ends piled in a corner.
The small table was covered with paints and brushes, and even a great many finished works.
Looking at the easel facing the chair, it was easy to imagine Rachel creating them. The style was a little abstract, though. No wonder her husband, Ed, had trouble following her train of thought.
Fu Qian didn't hesitate to approach the table and genuinely admire the paintings.
For an adult of her age, wasn't her style a little dark?
It wasn't as if every page was filled with blood and grotesque distortions, but the overall style was undeniably oppressive.
Even the paintings of blooming flowers were so heavily colored that they looked as if they'd been painted with blood.
Was this one of those "teenagers think it's childish, but two teenagers think it's just right" situations?
Remembering his initial comments on the tastes of the two missing people, Fu Qian couldn't help marveling at the strange workings of the human heart. He even recalled what Head-Peeking Brother had said.
He didn't know what the situation was now, but Rachel seemed to have once had an anchor in the Inner World, too.
That was right. He wasn't a professional, but as someone accustomed to bizarre scenes, Fu Qian could easily sense something of the Inner World's style in her work.
If Rachel hadn't been influenced by some subconscious force, and had painted all this purely