From Puppet to Muse (Four Foxes #4)

CHAPTER 1

You have six months left.

Those words kept ringing in my head like a hollowed sound effect jarring from the neighbor’s bedroom. I just couldn’t shake it off. Ever since the doctor informed me two days ago that the rest of my life was rapidly shrinking like an island, and every second it was being drowned, never to be seen again. My head had been revolving with the same thought since.

“Lily, Mr. Jenson wants you in his office.” A soft, measured voice reached my ears, pulling me out of my weary thoughts.

I took a calming breath as I nodded to Riana, my colleague, sliding a small smile her way. I turned my eyes downcast to the array of sketch panels in front of me.

Perfectly drawn lines and uncolored eyes stared back at me.

Like lifeless dolls arranged in a toy store waiting for a kid to pick them up.

Lifeless. Like how my soul felt recently.

I rubbed the center of my chest as I rose and willed my steps toward the rooms down the back. The constant chatter around the office spilled through my ears in a low buzz.

Sighing deeply, I brought my knuckle up to rattle the frosted door. “Mr. Jenson, it’s Lily. Can I come in? ”

“Yes,” a gruff voice replied from the other side of the door.

I entered the modern white room, too clinical, too plain, like the man it belonged to. “Mr. Jenson, you wanted to see me.” I eased myself onto the empty chair opposite him, my gaze roaming over him. Mr. Jenson was in his late thirties, with sandy-brown hair and a stiff face that never smiled. And unfortunately for me, he was the lead animator of the team I was interning with.

He looked up from the huge monitors on his desk, raising a brow my way. “Did I ask you to sit?” he questioned in a grim, icy tone.

“Oh, sorry.” My eyes widened as I shot up, and trepidation flared its way up my gut. What was that about?

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs as he regarded me disdainfully. “Ms. Jameson, can you explain this to me?” He slides the panel art on his table toward me.

I bent lower as I dragged my eyes down the familiar art. “Yes.” I nodded. “Those are mine.”

He tapped his index finger on the sheet in quick motions. “Do you know what’s wrong with them?”

I eyed the pictures. “No,” I said confidently.

Everyone on our team, including my mentor, Rio, our team’s senior keyframe artist, complimented me, saying I had an exceptional style.

“I knew you weren’t fit for this role.” His lips formed a thin line of annoyance. “Only the best of the best work here, Ms. Jameson. You need to match that level, or you can simply leave. All these are amateur level. Imagine the nightmare if I show these to Makima.” He shoved the papers toward me. “I need you to redo them by tomorrow morning, or else you’re out.”

The thud in my heart picked up as I focused on the palatial backdrop I spent hours creating. To the eye that’s been learning art ever since she knew how to pick up a pencil, I knew it was close to perfect. In fact, it was one of the best pieces I’ve ever created.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with them because they seem fine to me,” I said, my eyes still searching for a mistake.

He stabbed his finger over it again, drawing my attention back to his narrowed eyes. “If you can’t find what’s wrong with them, Ms. Jameson, you really shouldn’t be here. Now go do your job.”

The slithering tension in the room could cut through glass.

I swallowed, nodding as I leaned over to grab the papers. The hold of his heavy gaze never left mine as I hurriedly dashed out of the room.

The breath I didn’t even know I was holding escaped my lips, spurting out in fast rasps.

Fuck.

What the hell was his problem?

“Hey, are you okay?” Riana asked, her eyes filled with concern as I returned to my desk and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it down in one go to calm the rising nerves swirling in my gut. Riana was the other intern on our team and soon became my best friend.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then set the bottle aside as I dropped into my chair. Damn, I needed that. “Yeah,” I groaned, leaning back against the soft cushion. “I have to redo these.” I flicked the papers onto my desk in frustration.

Lines etched her forehead. “These?” She picked one up. “Why? They all look fine to me.”

“Apparently, they aren’t to Mr. Jenson,” I mumbled, my eyes remaining focused on the lines that took everything in me to create.

“That’s absurd.” She propped her hip on the desk. “He was fine with my work, and mine looked nowhere near as perfect as yours.”

I heaved out a heavy sigh, shrugging. I honestly didn’t know why he got a stick up his ass when it came to me. “I’ll get started on them,” I muttered, retrieving my graph pad.

Riana placed a light hand on my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, Lily.”

“I will,” I mumbled, already looking through the storyboard images from the pre-production team to see where I’d gone wrong.

I’ve captured the angles, the perception, and the details perfectly. I still didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I flicked through the character and background references and was still left with the same question.

Frustration spiked its way up to my skin. I rubbed my eyelids, going over the lines in my head. I knew nothing was at the level of perfection, and everything could be improved. So where had I gone wrong?

Our team was currently working on a romcom anime that was coming out late next year in collaboration with the studio in Japan. I still couldn’t believe I got accepted into this internship program earlier this year. It was highly competitive and hard to land a spot, with Grisha Studios being the only studio in the US that works on anime being produced in mainstream Japan.

An actual anime.

Meaning some of my work could end up on the screen.

That was my biggest fucking dream.

My eyes flew open as I dragged it to the screen in front of me. Nothing was wrong with it, at least on my end. An intern was usually used as an in-between artist, tweening the frames that the key animator created. But Makima had taken a chance on me and gave me a full background panel to work on.

Makima was the animation director, and I’ve been a huge fan of her work for years now. Her skill set was, without a doubt, the best in the industry. She transferred here from Japan to head this branch and she was the last person I would want to let down.

So I decided to start from scratch.

My brows were pinched, immersed in detailing the outline when Riana’s hand grasped my shoulder. “Hey, we’re all heading home. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Ugh.” It wasn’t until my eyes met the dark city lights twinkling through the windows that I realized I’d been at this for hours now. A quick glance at the time told me it was around six p.m. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just have a few things to finish up.”

Her lips curved into a warm smile. “Well, they look amazing already. I can’t believe how talented you are.” She gestured to my graph board. “I still don’t understand why you had to rework that. ”

“I don’t know either,” I mumbled. “Maybe because it’s a full panel.”

“Yeah, I think so too. Do you want me to stay with you till you finish up?” she asked softly.

“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll pack up in a few.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “Okay, good night then. Don’t work too much. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waved, walking away.

“You too,” I mumbled at her disappearing back.

Soon, the entire office filed out, and the lights grew dimmer.

I stretched out my tired bones, exhausted. Every single cell in my body felt like it had been weighed down by a boulder. It felt painful to even breathe.

The past few hours have kept me distracted from the ruinous thoughts that have been crowding my mind since yesterday. I couldn’t get past the terror waking its way up my gut.

My thoughts kept flashing back to what the doctor had said: You had six months left. A checkup for breathing difficulty soon turned into a nightmare. I didn’t feel much as they drew the first blood, but I was called in again with a sense of urgency and got put through a ridiculous number of tests until the doctor confirmed my diagnosis for my heavily deteriorating body.

A bought of prescription and the explanation for my exhaustion now lay in a file, digging a hole through my purse.

What was I going to do?

I scrubbed my palm over my face and focused on the task at hand. Then, I’ll think about the rest .

It was well past seven o’clock when I finally added the last detail to the sketch. I sighed a breath of relief and pulled myself to my feet.

God, I was dead tired, and my brain fumbled to keep up. After gathering all my things, I rolled down the elevator, opting for a taxi instead of my car.

Because I didn’t have confidence in my ability to drive tonight.

By the time I dragged my heavy feet down the lobby of Blueline (my apartment), I was a goner.

Being the younger sister of the lead singer of the most popular rock band did come with its perks. Like this swanky apartment that I could never afford if not for him. I rounded the corner to the private elevator to see that it was just blinking closed.

Must be one of the guys.

I rushed in my last few steps and pressed the downward arrow.

And very well it opened up.

To a sight that made me regret the actions of the past few seconds.

Michael.

And a bimbo clinging to his arms.

His eyes flashed to mine, and the playfulness was immediately replaced by a look reserved for me and me alone.

Disdain.

A different kind of pain swaddled my anchoring heart, but that was soon replaced by burning rage .

I forced an impassive look on my face as I stepped inside the elevator even though every bone in my body screamed not to.

I could feel those green eyes following my every move, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of glancing at him.

Thankfully, the code for our floor was already activated so we started our ascent upstairs.

The bimbo turned toward me, frowning. “Umm, this is a private elevator. What are you doing here?” Her shrill voice and the smell of icky-sweet perfume invaded me.

It felt like a flower garden met a bad chemical factory. I ignored her, gripping my purse harder.

“She’s the neighbor.” His cold voice slithered over the suffocating chamber.

“Oh,” the bimbo said, satisfied as she turned back to him.

A neighbor.

I was reduced to a neighbor.

We used to be best friends, Mikey and I, when we were kids. He was my best friend first before he was my brother’s.

Funny how that changed now.

I held on to every word he said from the moment I met him when I was eight. He was my knight in shining armor, the little boy with green eyes who looked at me like I was the light of his life. But they seemed to dim the older we got; from best friends, we became just friends and then acquaintances.

And now, as adults, we were strangers.

At least, I could admit that the one who made us strangers was him.

Holding on to the hope he would one day be mine was long gone .

It did kill me to think he couldn’t even look me in the eye anymore or admit the reason we fell apart like we did.

But I wasn’t foolish enough to wait around for him like an idiot or try to be a martyr to change him.

A part of me would always love that boy who brought me purple crayons just because I loved to sketch and was obsessed with that color. But that boy was no longer here, and I don’t think I’ll ever get him back.

But still, as much as I forced myself to hate him and put on a farce outward about how much I couldn’t stand his presence, Michael was the only man I’d ever truly wanted. My body craved him with a burning fever.

A fever I couldn’t deny.

The ring of the elevator landing on our floor interrupted my roaming thoughts.

I didn’t move a muscle till I waited for the happy couple to get out before I trailed them. The stiffness in his walk gave away the fact that he was affected by my presence, but I didn’t give a flying fuck because I had more problems to worry about.

The silence was deafening as we walked past the first two apartments: the boy’s cave, a.k.a. the band’s recording studio, and Matty’s home before we reached the end of the corridor.

Mine was the smallest apartment on this floor, while Mikey’s and Matty’s were similar five-bedroom penthouses, which were a lot smaller than my brother’s penthouse. His place took up the entire top floor.

The band lived in the same building, and as an extension, so did I.

The cruelest fact was that our apartments faced each other .

I completely ignored his watchful eyes as I punched in the code and slammed the door shut to my humble two-bed. I staggered against the door, a painful breath escaping my lips.

As much as I tried to put on a brave face, it still hurt. It killed me to see him with other girls. And that fucker knew very well how to ruffle my feathers with the number of girls he fucked on a daily basis.

But I had bigger things to worry about.

All this exhilaration only wore me out further.

I carried my dead feet to the bathroom, and after the hottest shower, I settled on my bed wearing my fluffy purple hoodie with a rice bowl while I focused on what I had to do.

It’s something that’s been on my mind since the doctor declared my life sentence yesterday.

To make the list that I never thought I’d be making.

A list of things to do within the next six months.

Till I had no time left.

Because I was dying.