Unsinkable

As it Should Be

The endless abyss of stars matched Jacin's soul; for his soul was a thing so lonesome, kept only from the dark by the relief of dreams. He was a creature of a pessimistic nature, but there was still a child living within him, continuing to wish for things that could never be.

He wished that he could work as an artist and be seen, not as a vagrant, but as a man of craft. He wished that he could look his father in the eye and say that he had no regret for not learning his trade. He wished that Winter Hayle could love him.

"Jacin," a voice whispered out from the stars. Light streaked across the sky as one of the trillions of lights fell from heaven and down to Earth. "Jacin," the voice repeated.

Sitting up from his reclined position on a wooden bench, Jacin found himself looking at Winter Hayle herself, dressed all in blue and more beautiful than ever. Briefly, he wondered if he was dreaming.

"Winter," Jacin said, her name but a breath upon his lips.

She motioned to sit down on the bench beside him, and Jacin immediately put his feet on the deck of the ship. She sat within inches of him, the warmth of her radiating out like a beacon of sunshine on the longest winter's night.

"Could you draw me?" Winter asked, somewhat twitchy in manner as she asked the question.

"Draw you?" Jacin could hardly fathom that she was there. Was she even real?

"Yes, draw me," Winter repeated with a curt nod, her face eternally earnest. "You're an artist. You must draw people. Would you do me the honor of drawing me?"

Jacin resisted the urge to laugh. From the very moment he had met her, his fingers had itched to paint her dark eyes and wild hair. She was a masterpiece walking— to capture her was to capture the splendor of heaven itself. She was real, despite all the cruelty in the world, she was real.

"Why do you laugh?" She asked. "Are you not an artist after all?"

Shaking his head, Jacin examined her, a wry smile sliding up his lips. "I laugh only because I have wanted to draw you from the very moment I laid eyes on you. The problem is, I have no paper nor paint. So it seems that we must both be disappointed."

Winter shut her eyes, and Jacin worried that she was crying for a moment, until he heard her hum in concentration. "Hmmm," she breathed, then opened one eye to peer at him. "I think I know just the place."

She stood from the bench and held out a hand to Jacin. He hesitated for barely a breath before he slipped his fingers into hers, and they ran off together.

He did not know why she came before him after both she and Channary had made it clear that he didn't have a fighting change with her. Perhaps it was all just a dream—her coming to him, loving him. If it was all a dream, he prayed to never wake.

Their arms swung between them as they traipsed through the ship halls and into the library. Jacin hadn't even known that the ship had one until he stepped foot inside, his eyes widening as he took in the splendor of the place.

The room was lit with a soothing, golden light, made more alive by the sea green armchairs and bronze-colored carpet. The walls were a soft cream, and a chandelier shined from the center of the room. It was a regal sort of place, and Jacin suddenly felt much too dirty to be in a place so fine. But Winter dragged him along without any hesitation.

There were few people in the room due to the lateness of the hour— just past nine. Everyone was out drinking or dancing or sleeping at this time, but Jacin was alive with the energy of being with Winter. He knew that he was not in a dream anymore, for he was too alive, just as he had been the night before while dancing with Winter. He wondered how men slept— dreamed— when there was so much living to do and not enough time to do it all.