“Ember! Love! Oh, fucking gods…” Fiella grumbled.
“Come on now, Ember! Now is not the time,” Redd echoed.
“What’s happened?” Tommins shouted from where he stood, refusing to come any closer. “Is anyone dead?”
“No deaths!” Redd called. “Just a mess.”
“Carry on, then. Back to the competition!”
Finally, I approached the scene.
Laughter burst from my throat, drowning out the curses from Fiella.
The dragons were playing on a collapsed table, covered in paint, swatting at each other.
It was a disaster.
“Oh, gods!” I cried.
“Did you feel left out?” Tandor asked, not looking angry at all. If anything, he looked delighted. “Tiny, brilliant artists.”
Brambleby took a step in my direction, but I froze, holding my hands up in defense. “Oh no! Not with this tunic on. You three better take a dunk in a puddle before you get any closer. Someone will bring you a bucket of water.”
I returned to my painting, flapping my hand dismissively behind me. “Have fun, you little monsters! Enjoy being purple and yellow for the day.”
Tommins and Linc were making their way through the square, examining the paintings and taking notes. A crowd of Moonvale folk followed them, shouting out their opinions and interjecting with their thoughts.
It was quite a chaotic sight.
I watched the crowd commence.
The paintings were self-portraits, animals, abstract shapes, patterns, even a cottage or two. Some were quite impressive.
Some were absolutely terrible, but who was I to judge?
Then Tommins proceeded to the edge of the crowd where the stranger lurked.
I couldn’t help myself—I crept closer to get a look.
His painting was enough to force the breath from my lungs.
He had painted a gorgeous scene of a forest at night. It was dark, sultry, and utterly haunting. Just the sight of it squeezed my chest, pricked the back of my eyes.
It felt so… lonely. So desolate.
A tear welled up in my eye and slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
I scrubbed it away with the back of my hand.
It was just a painting.
Not even the best painting I’d ever seen. There was no reason for it to trigger such an emotional response.
I was losing my damned mind. Or I was turning into Fiella—I wasn't sure which was worse.
I retreated, ignoring theoohsandahhsfrom the crowd. Asmall part of me felt relieved that I wasn’t the only one impressed by the stranger’s dark forest.
I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders to shake off the strange melancholy the painting had evoked.
