04-18-2019, 10:34 AM
It felt strange to wake up in the old apartment after so much time away, and even stranger to wake alone. Early morning shadows seemed just the wrong side of familiar, settling like dust on a life she had all but abandoned after the break-in. Thalia was not fond of self-reflection; at least not the sort that forced confrontation with the obstacles jutting like rocks from the smooth bed of a river. But things had changed. Calvin’s kindness made them seem less like obstacles and more like curiosities glinting like half buried treasure, and for the first time she was beginning to consider them without the deep-set fear tight in her gut.
She remembered to message Nox to find out how his meeting went, but sank into the oblivion of her sketchbooks for a long time before she remembered to send a reply. Thalia rarely looked back as she chose to now. The books lay splayed in piles, innards bared, pages torn loose when whim caught on the images within. She didn’t question the instinct that sorted piles from the tapestry of old work. Words jumbled around in her head like stories spun from the disparate scraps gathered from years worth of scribblings, and she sat amongst the debris, arms and legs smudged by graphite. Hair spun wild about her face. She stared at the mess she had made.
How do you see my nightmares?
She had brushed off the accusation without choosing to acknowledge the truth. But there had been other glimmers of what lay beyond that thinning veil. Seeing the man on the subway risen like a spectre from the pages of her sketches had terrified her beyond comprehension at the time. She knew every mark on his face; the stroke of every eyelash, the slope of his nose and cheeks; the exact hue of his skin, and the colours that made up his irises. A name haunted on her periphery, uttered from both his lips and Calvin’s the day they’d met in the market. Nox called her a dream walker, but Thalia never remembered dreaming. The images came from somewhere, though, and believing the impossible was surprisingly easy, even if she remained wary of what that might mean.
But she had still not told Nox of the drawings that drew bloody and dripping from her very soul; compulsion enough to blunt her fingers to stubs should the need ever be denied an outlet.
Thalia had destroyed the painting that scared her most, months before -- the same day Kat had died in her arms. But traces of it drifted like scattered ash through the work heaped around her now, unnoticed until the images had been drawn together. She wasn’t sure she wanted to root around for understanding. Even blinking down at it now, trepidation dug claws in her stomach, and so she eased herself into the questions of kinder currents. She plucked a single page and rested it in her lap; a simple spring landscape, if one did not look too closely.
Aylin wouldn’t understand, and though she knew with certainty that she could rely on Nox to help her, she also knew it would be a reliance. Nobody will help us except ourselves. She checked her phone, seeking the time, and promptly discovered and answered his message:
@Nox Talk to you later then. Let me know when your first show is. I’ll be there :)
Then she carefully folded her drawing. Her thoughts rippled in strange waves, reaching new shores; the rush of a crazy idea, though Thalia rarely bothered with such labels. She stood, head tilted as she contemplated the sea of paper at her feet one last time, then picked her way through to pack a rucksack. The last thing she remembered to do was change out of her pajamas before the door locked softly behind her.
She remembered to message Nox to find out how his meeting went, but sank into the oblivion of her sketchbooks for a long time before she remembered to send a reply. Thalia rarely looked back as she chose to now. The books lay splayed in piles, innards bared, pages torn loose when whim caught on the images within. She didn’t question the instinct that sorted piles from the tapestry of old work. Words jumbled around in her head like stories spun from the disparate scraps gathered from years worth of scribblings, and she sat amongst the debris, arms and legs smudged by graphite. Hair spun wild about her face. She stared at the mess she had made.
How do you see my nightmares?
She had brushed off the accusation without choosing to acknowledge the truth. But there had been other glimmers of what lay beyond that thinning veil. Seeing the man on the subway risen like a spectre from the pages of her sketches had terrified her beyond comprehension at the time. She knew every mark on his face; the stroke of every eyelash, the slope of his nose and cheeks; the exact hue of his skin, and the colours that made up his irises. A name haunted on her periphery, uttered from both his lips and Calvin’s the day they’d met in the market. Nox called her a dream walker, but Thalia never remembered dreaming. The images came from somewhere, though, and believing the impossible was surprisingly easy, even if she remained wary of what that might mean.
But she had still not told Nox of the drawings that drew bloody and dripping from her very soul; compulsion enough to blunt her fingers to stubs should the need ever be denied an outlet.
Thalia had destroyed the painting that scared her most, months before -- the same day Kat had died in her arms. But traces of it drifted like scattered ash through the work heaped around her now, unnoticed until the images had been drawn together. She wasn’t sure she wanted to root around for understanding. Even blinking down at it now, trepidation dug claws in her stomach, and so she eased herself into the questions of kinder currents. She plucked a single page and rested it in her lap; a simple spring landscape, if one did not look too closely.
Aylin wouldn’t understand, and though she knew with certainty that she could rely on Nox to help her, she also knew it would be a reliance. Nobody will help us except ourselves. She checked her phone, seeking the time, and promptly discovered and answered his message:
@Nox Talk to you later then. Let me know when your first show is. I’ll be there :)
Then she carefully folded her drawing. Her thoughts rippled in strange waves, reaching new shores; the rush of a crazy idea, though Thalia rarely bothered with such labels. She stood, head tilted as she contemplated the sea of paper at her feet one last time, then picked her way through to pack a rucksack. The last thing she remembered to do was change out of her pajamas before the door locked softly behind her.