In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
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Lumina Headquarters 379 Eddington Drive, New York, NY 10010 (3rd September)
Dear Miss Reagan Sinclair.
We hope this letter finds you well. We are writing to inform you that we have come across your artwork from our scouters online, and we're immensely impressed by the debt of emotion evident in your pieces. At Lumina Studios, we are dedicated to providing a platform for emerging artists like you, and we would be honoured to extend an invitation to showcase your paintings at our annual event dedicated to highlighting the work of new and promising talents. We would love to discuss this opportunity with you in more detail and answer any questions you may have about the event.
Please contact us at (LuminaStudioS379@gmail.com) at your earliest convenience to further discuss the logistics and details regarding your involvement in the showcase. Congratulations on being one of the select few artists to be chosen this year, and we sincerely look forward to the possibility of hosting your artwork at The Lumina Studios' annual showcasing of promising new artists.
Warm regards Octavia Luna Lumina Headquarters
I READ THE LETTER three more times before the words make sense in my brain, and then I read it one last time because no artist worth their salt takes the name Octavia Luna lightly.
“Holy shit,” I fold the letter, put it in the envelope, set it on the coffee table and then stare at it some more. When George, the man who usually brings my mail upstairs, gave me the envelope with the Lumina Studios stamp, I nearly had a mini aneurysm. Octavia Luna, maker of dreams Octavia Luna wants my art. Lumina freaking Studios wants my art. I try not to be too excited because I need to call my father first. Julius Sinclair has the money to make people bend to his will if he wanted to, and I wouldn't put it past him to do this for me. The phone rings three times before my father picks up.
“Hey, Dad,”
“Reagan, I was just about to call. Do you think that Walter would like a miniature sweater? Because it's about to get cold, and the poor guy doesn't have the same advantages the other cats have,” my father is watching Walter for me as a sort of test run for when Sammy and I go to the Christmas ranch. At least they seem to be getting along well, who knew? I would've asked my mom to do it, but she's going on a much-needed getaway with her girlfriends.
“Did you do it, Dad?” I ask, completely bypassing his question about Walter.
“The cat made me do it, honest,”
“Dad I'm being so serious, right now! Did you do it?”
“I can't answer your question if I don't know what you're talking about, honey,”
“Did you pay off Lumina Studios to accept my art?”
“They want your paintings?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than it was a second ago.
