But that’s what I’m here to do—find my deep connection.
It’s here in Harmony Glen, I just know it. Even when I passed through the exterior parts of town, I felt like something deep within my bones changed.
My art is here. My magical touch. My muse.
There’s a lot to discover, and hidden within is what I’m looking for. The conservation area might hold the secret, or maybe the town itself.
Hell, maybe it’s where my meant-to-be muse lives.
The weight of a stare from some unknown source returns, but I don’t react. I continue sketching, the sensation bringing shadow into my art, warping the corners.
I whip my head around, but there’s still no one. As I scan, I don’t see anything except leaves rustling from a small breeze flowing through.
My mind must be playing tricks on me. I need to be an established artist around theworldif I’m going to go mad.
Shrugging my shoulders, I focus on the page. I need to put everything I’m feeling into the sketches.
There’s nothing watching me other than earthworms and chipmunks. This weird sensation is just because I’m in a new place, in the forest, all alone.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go.
As I open my eyes, my hand begins to flowacross the page.
Back in my cabin, I lay down a tarp below my easel. I’m very careful when I paint, but this is a rental, and you can never betoocareful.
I left the conservation area as soon as the sun started to set. I didn’t want to get lost in the woods on my first night here.
After dipping my brush in the paint, I drag it across the canvas. Every so often, I glance over at my sketch from the woods while bringing it to life through vibrant colors and precise strokes.
When I finish a painting, I set the respective canvas aside carefully to dry before prepping my next one. Paintings of the town’s own forest are sure to sell if my other pieces don’t grab anyone’s attention.
I go from painting to painting without losing my flow of creativity. At least, not until I reach my sketch with darkened corners. This one is the most different from all of my others.
Usually, I take an abstract approach, disregarding where shadows should properly be. Not in this sketch, though. Each shadow is paintedexactlywhere I could see them being cast by the leaking sunlight.
All except for the corners, which represent that strange, lingering feeling of being watched.
I clean my brush, eyeing the almost completely untouched darker palette poking out of one of my suitcases.In my art, I tend to steer clear of grays and blacks, unless I’m painting tiny details.
Bright colors are always my way, though I’m not sure why that is. The vibrancy of each color, the multitude of shades and variations just makes everything so eye-catching.
Pulling my eyes away, I dip my clean brush back into the colorful palette in my right hand. I’ll stick with what I know, my bright colors splashing together on the canvas.
I paint away, deep into the night, letting the art take its form. But something still feels like it’s missing.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll go into town, take a look around. For now, I need to sleep.
Chapter Two
OBSESSED WITH A STRANGER
ORIE
Whois he, and why did every single one of my demon senses go off when he crossed the perimeter into town?
He doesn’t seem harmful, at least not what I observed from the shadows. All he had with him was a sketchbook and some pencils.
Damn it, why did I even go see who he was?
