Chapter 5
Chapter Five
MY FIRST MASTERPIECE
CARSON
I’m not positive, but I’m pretty confident I just found the eyes I felt on me in the forest. They just stared back at me, and this time, not hidden away in the shadows.
I’m fairly sure that she was hitting on me as well. Not at first, but then she gave me this bracelet for free—and then put on an amethyst bracelet herself. That has to mean something, right?
Though I’m not sure if she meant for me to see her put on a matching bracelet. And I guess she did put on a few others with it. Shit, I might be reading into things. I couldn’t help myself, watching her through the window after I walked out of the store.
She’s just so stunning, I can’t get her face out of my mind. And those eyes, those eyes. Like pools of midnight sky, flecks of silver stars swimming amongst the deep shades. They are the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.
My sketch from the forest doesn’t do them any justice, and I know I have to paint them tonight. If she comes to the art show and sees the piece, she might connect the dots that they’re her eyes.
In my heart, I can feel it—she’s my muse. She’s what has drawn me to this wonderful little town. Now I just need to convince her that she’s what I’ve been looking for this entire time.
The way she carried herself, the navy blue of her hair, gray horns poking through, just her—she drew me in. Her skin looked smooth as stone, warm grays that aren’t human. She had horns poking through her shiny locks, and a tail that occasionally whipped behind her.
I’m not sure what she is exactly, but she’s stunning. Her aura is unusual, but not frightening.
When I get back to the cabins, Glen the tree-man is outside filling a grouping of bird feeders. I should invite him to my art show. Maybe he’ll like a few pieces and buy them to put up in the cabins. That would be cool.
“Hey Glen,” I call out, pulling a flyer from my back pocket and unfolding it carefully. “I’m having an art show in a few days at the town fountain. You should stop by.”
He turns toward me as I stop a few feet away. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, his viny hair settling around him.
I extend the flyer toward him, and as his woody fingers take it from me, my muscles tense up. My eyes dart between him and the flyer as he looks at it.
Is it rude to give a tree-man a piece of paper?
Will he be offended?
Am I handing him part of a family member?
Are all trees alive in the same way that he is?
“I am so sorry if—” I begin to apologize, but he looks at me with a smile on his face.
“It is fine.” He gives a reassuring nod before returning his gaze to the paper. “I will attend. Is that all the equipment you moved into the cabin?”
I nod. “Yes, all my painting supplies, and some of my finished pieces.”
He nods a few more times before returning to what he was doing.
I don’t walk away, though, curiosity still at the forefront of my brain. “Do you know much about the conservation area?”
As he turns, he nods. “Yes. I used to live there, and I still enjoy spending time there.”
Okay, that means there’s a slight chance it was Glen’s eyes I’ve felt on me. Except his eyes are not the same as the ones from the woods. His are brown, deeper than the woodiness of his skin.
“Are there any other beings who spend time in the conservation area?” I ask, hoping he’ll have information to support my theory.
He tilts his head. “Quite a few, I imagine. Many of us took cover there before integrating with the human community. Plus, the conservation area is a magical place to spend time, as I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself.”
“Of course. That makes sense. Thanks.” I give him a smile, and he turns his back to me once again, paying no mind to a small bird that lands on his head.
Instead of hovering and bombarding him with more questions, I slip away and head into my cabin. My hands can’t move fast enough, getting my paints out and prepping a new canvas.
I fill my palette with darker shades than I tend to use. Various blues, multiple shades of gray, and of course some black and white. This will be my standout piece, so long as I do her eyes justice in capturing their essence.
Taking a deep breath, I relax and let my hand move the brush over the canvas. I take the shadows of the forest, where I first saw the eyes, as inspiration, creating a smoky, abstract shape in the center.
The shades feel unfamiliar to my brush. My strokes, a bit more hesitant than normal. I’m used to bright colors, sharp edges. This is softer, darker. There’s more room for error in darker colors.
I just have to remember that in art, there are no errors. Everything happens for a reason, every little thing making it unique—making it art.
My hand shakes slightly as I dip it in the darkest blue. Gods, please let me do those eyes the justice they deserve. I’m certain they’re hers, and if she does show up to my art show, I can’t be insulting her.
After I get the image of them out of my head—if I even can—then I’ll worry about why she’s been watching me from the shadows of the forest. Maybe I should also worry about why it doesn’t seem to bother me one bit.
The brush seems to move on its own as my memory flows out onto the canvas. I don’t normally paint realism, but this will be much less of a warped reality than my pieces tend to be.
I want it to be accurate in shape. Her long lashes need to flow upward into the smoke. All the layers and sparkles I saw deep within her eyes need to be the exaggerated part. That’s where this will stray from a simple realistic piece.
With every wrist movement and new shade of blue added, my soul feels warmer. My heart almost feels fuller just staring back at a mere reproduction of her eyes. My muse’s eyes.
This piece will be my best one yet, I can feel it. Tonight, the hours don’t matter; I’ll stay up until the sun begins to shine through that window.
Tonight, I paint a masterpiece. I can’t rest until it’s done.