The Source: Observer Chronicles, Book 3

Chapter 38: Sketched-In

Eve sat with Brenda as the television showed nothing but a blank screen when she had turned it on so long ago; to show what she meant, the horror seeping in, neither having the courage to turn it off again, reaching deep within themselves for something to come through, some unfound miracle or light that was not meant to be but they still wished for with their still actions.

"Eve," yelled Drage's voice from above.

Brenda finally raised from the chair and went up with Eve to see if there was anything wrong, him sounding urgent. All she could do was wait for Lauret to get back, panicking, thinking on the subject more than she should have, though knew in her heart no medicine nor science of this world could help here today, only something she could not understand; possibly one of the hardest things a human has to surrender to, she thought.

"Thank goodness, you had me worried. Are you alright?" asked Brenda as she saw Drage at the doorway standing and awake. "You look much better."

"I am fine, for now," replied Drage wincing as he moved, "in a little pain".

"Why did you call me?" asked Eve, trying to bring the moment to why they called the little girl.

The earth-wielder looked to Clarabelle. "We need your help."

"How could someone like me help?" sounded Eve sweetly, as if she would do anything.

"Because you're a capable being."

"Are they in trouble?" asked the girl. Clarabelle knelt down so she was at the same eye level, Eve looking at the mind-wielder that was glaring into the air and thinking on whether to speak the truth.

"I'm afraid so, but you can change that," said Drage.

"We need you to draw exactly what you saw on TV the first day those people in the desert were attacked. The same place, the dunes, everything, including the fortress. We also need you to draw the monster."

Eve seemed quite fond of the idea, "of course," she replied.

"Wait there," said Drage gesturing his hand before going to get something.

"Here we are," said Drage as he put some paper, a pencil and a small coffee table in front of her in his bedroom. "Oh, you need a chair, I'll be right back." He disappeared before Eve could turn to him, laying out the paper and pencils, waiting for his return.

Drage put the chair down, panting, "there we are, little one."

"Thank you," she replied, sitting down. Brenda, Drage and Clarabelle stayed in the room as Eve started and soon after asked for a rubber to erase the first mistake. She had made many in her life like any other person, but unlike a lot of people who decided to give up to them, that is where she differed. Brendaʼs daughter loved to alter and put right her mistakes, this is what satisfied her, the closest thing she could feel to the divine. The only churn of magick she knew herself.

Drage ran off again, realising he didnʼt have a clue where there was an eraser. "Do you have one?" asked Drage, his head popping round the corner and remembering what they looked like.

"It's in the drawer in the living room, furthest from the window at the front."

It was soon placed in front, and as Eve was about to ask for a sharpener, her mother held one out after coming back. She came up with cups of tea for everyone, except Eve, who had gotten warm milk.

"Doesn't that help people sleep?" said Drage, concerned.

"Itʼs debatable, really." replied the girl as she sketched and took back so many of those lines that Brenda's eyes were feeling heavy just watching. Oh how easy it is, not like the many events and situations of life: Putting pressure to paper with material, making what was once there, gone. But like all things, if you pressed deep enough—you would see a dent. No matter how hard you tried to remove it, it would remain.