Page 17 of A Virgo’s Muse (BLP Signs of Love #12)
Five Years Later
The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, soft, sweet, and familiar. It clung to the walls of their sunlit home like a memory that refused to fade, drifting between laughter and lullabies, between love and legacy.
Desire Bradford stood barefoot on the hardwood floor of their in-home studio with a smear of blue streaking the curve of her cheek.
Her curls were tied into a messy bun as she adjusted the canvas in front of her.
Behind her, messy handprints danced across the tarp, covering the floor as proof that a certain little artist had already been hard at work.
“Messiah!” she called out, smiling. “Where did you put the red paint, baby?”
From the corner of the room, a tiny voice answered with a giggle. “In my hair, Mommy!”
She turned just in time to see her three-year-old son waddling in with a red-streaked afro, clutching a paintbrush like it was a microphone. His cheeks were plump, his smile wide, and his eyes? He got those from his father—big, bold, and full of the kind of confidence only a Bradford could wear.
Onyx stepped in behind him, swooping the boy up effortlessly.
“Mess, you tryna out-paint your mama again?” he teased, kissing the boy’s chubby cheek.
Messiah squealed. “I’m the best!”
“You got that right,” Desire said, joining them and wrapping her arms around both of them.
Their days were like this now, filled with paint-splattered joy, late-night dancing in the kitchen, sleepy toddler giggles, and the kind of love that didn’t just happen once but every day.
Five years ago, Desire was nervous in front of a crowd, pulling the tarp off her first full gallery collection. Today, she was a wife, a mother, an artist, and a woman fully bloomed.
Their wedding had been closed off and intimate, just as they wanted. No flashing cameras, no long guest list… just their closest people, their vows whispered under soft golden lights, and hands clasped tight as they promised forever.
And the gifts they shared between one another? They gave each other art. That was their thing.
Every anniversary since, they exchanged new pieces, visual love letters that told the story of another year conquered—a piece called Rooted on their first anniversary, Blueprint on their second, Frequency , Gratitude , and now, for year five, a joint canvas titled Legacy .
It was completed with Messiah’s tiny fingerprints stamped across the bottom corner.
Their home became a gallery of growth, of black love wrapped in brushstrokes and devotion.
And Messiah, Lord, that boy was their whole heartbeat. From the moment he entered the world, he took pieces of both of them—Desire’s patience, Onyx’s fire, and an obsession with paint that started before he could walk.
He painted on walls, clothes, even the dog once—a rescue mutt they named Huey who tolerated Messiah’s toddler art projects with surprising grace.
After Desire’s mother passed away just months after their wedding, the air in the house changed.
It was softer and quieter. Her mother had held on just long enough to see her daughter walk into happiness.
Onyx remembered the day clearly. Desire and her father sitting beside her mother’s bed, whispering to her that it was okay to let go, and just like that… she did.
Desire’s father moved in soon after, his old hands learning how to hold joy again through Messiah. He spent mornings tending to their garden and evenings sketching beside his daughter, a quiet partnership that said everything without words.
Desire and Sade’s friendship had only deepened over the years from late-night vent sessions to motherhood talks over wine and face masks.
They were more like sisters now. So it made perfect sense that five years later, Desire found herself sitting in Sade’s bathroom, staring down at a pregnancy test like they were teenagers hiding secrets again.
When the two lines appeared, tears welled in her eyes, not from fear but joy. Her family was growing even bigger now. Her heart had room for more. And in that tiny bathroom, with Sade grinning beside her, Desire realized just how full her life had become.
As for Onyx…
He walked away from the shadows and never looked back.
He began sculpting again full time. Fingers that once curled around a trigger now crafted stone and clay into something beautiful.
He funded community art programs, built three new rec centers, and launched a mentorship initiative for kids in Merrburry Courts who needed someone to believe in them before the world wrote them off.
His name, once whispered in fear, was now spoken with pride.
There were Sunday picnics and paint battles in the yard, game nights with Sade and Ghost, who were somehow still wrapped up in each other like teenagers, and nights where Messiah snored between them in bed and Onyx kissed Desire’s shoulder just to remind her, I’m still here. I’m still yours.
Life was good, stable, soft… sacred.
And if you asked anyone who really knew Desire Howard, they’d tell you she was happy in that deep, bone-settled way. She was happy in that Virgo kind of way, where peace wasn’t just a wish; it was a standard.
Virgos, the healers, the analyzers known to love hard, give silently, and retreat when wounded. They were ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication, but it was not easy for them to open up until they trusted that you’d hold their heart the way they held everyone else’s.
Desire had spent years strong-arming her own vulnerability, building quiet worlds in her canvases because she didn’t trust the real one… until Onyx came along and saw her.
According to astrology, only a few signs could bring the best out of a Virgo, but when a Virgo found their muse? That was when the masterpiece began. And Desire’s masterpiece was this life.
Onyx watched his wife paint, their son curled at her feet, humming to himself. Her father sat nearby, sketching a familiar silhouette. And Onyx? He just stood there, watching, breathing it in.
The brushstrokes of a love he never imagined he could have had came full circle. This wasn’t just a happy ending. This was the beginning of everything they didn’t even know they needed, and it was all theirs.
When a Virgo finally let someone in past the walls, the fears, and the silence, they didn’t just give you love… they gave you pieces of their soul. To be a Virgo’s muse wasn’t just an honor… it was a legacy. Because when they chose you, they painted you into their forever.
— A Virgo’s Muse
The End