Strokes of Fate

Chapter 1.2

Alone at last, Zara let out a long, shaky breath. She moved to the window, pushing it open to let in the cool night air. The distant sound of traffic and the gentle rustle of leaves provided a soothing backdrop to her tumultuous thoughts.

Her gaze fell on the old oak tree outside, its branches stretching towards her window like beckoning arms. How many times had she climbed that tree as a child, seeking solace in its sturdy limbs? How many summer afternoons had she spent perched among its leaves, sketchbook in hand, dreaming of the artist she would become?

The memory brought a lump to her throat. Where had that girl gone? The one brimming with creativity and ambition, ready to take on the art world?

Zara's eyes roamed the barren walls of her room, so devoid of the personality and passion that had once defined her. It felt like a physical representation of the emptiness inside her, the void where her inspiration used to reside.

With a sigh, she turned away from the window and began to unpack her meager belongings. As she hung up the few clothes she'd brought, her hand brushed against something in the pocket of her jacket. Curious, she reached in and pulled out a small, tarnished key.

Zara frowned, turning the key over in her palm. She didn't recognize it, couldn't remember where it had come from or what it might open. But something about it tugged at her memory, like a word on the tip of her tongue.

A sudden urge to explore gripped her. The house was quiet now, her family having retired to their rooms. Perhaps a late-night wander would help clear her head.

Slipping the key into her pocket, Zara eased open her bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The old floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way towards the attic stairs, drawn by an inexplicable pull.

As she ascended the narrow staircase, the musty scent of old wood and forgotten memories enveloped her. The attic had always been a place of mystery and adventure when she was younger, filled with dusty treasures and family heirlooms.

At the top of the stairs, Zara fumbled for the light switch, blinking as a single bare bulb flickered to life. The attic was much as she remembered it – a jumble of old furniture, stacked boxes, and items long forgotten by the family below.

Her eyes were drawn to an ornate wooden chest tucked away in a corner. Something about it called for intrigue, and as she approached, she noticed a small keyhole on its front.

With trembling fingers, Zara pulled the mysterious key from her pocket. It fit perfectly into the lock.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

As Zara lifted the lid of the ornate chest, a cloud of dust billowed up, making her cough and wave her hand. When the air cleared, she peered inside, her heart racing with anticipation.

The chest was filled with an assortment of old papers, photographs, and curious objects. But what caught Zara's eye was a beautiful, antique drafting set nestled in a velvet-lined case.

With reverent hands, she lifted the set from the chest. The case was made of rich, dark wood, its surface etched with intricate geometric patterns. As she ran her fingers over the design, she felt a strange tingling sensation, as if the case itself was alive with energy. Had this been something her father bought her and forgot about? Was it something she was supposed to have a long time ago as a growing artist?

Zara carefully opened the case, revealing a collection of drafting tools unlike any she had seen before. Brass compasses, rulers, and pens gleamed in the dim attic light, each piece a work of art in itself. But it was the centerpiece that truly took her breath away – an ornate compass with a crystal lens at its center.

As she picked up the compass, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through her body. The crystal lens caught the light, refracting it in mesmerizing patterns across the attic walls. For a moment, Zara could have sworn she saw the shadows move and twist into strange, meaningful shapes.

Drawn by an irresistible urge, Zara gathered the drafting set and made her way back to her room. She closed the door quietly behind her, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Setting the case on the floor, Zara retrieved her sketchbook and a fresh sheet of paper from her portfolio. As she arranged the drafting tools around her, she felt a familiar spark of creativity – something she hadn't experienced in months.

With trembling hands, she picked up the crystal compass and set it on the paper. The moment the point touched the sheet, Zara felt a rush of energy flow through her. Her hand began to move of its own accord, guiding the compass in sweeping arcs and intricate spirals.

With the door locked and feeling exhausted but renewed with the grand finding, Zara felt a need to release the tension from dinner.

Her mind wandered as she examined the pen from the drafting set, thinking about how it might fit into her artwork. But another thought crept in, unbidden—how would it feel inside her? Zara's cheeks flushed at the idea, her body responding to the sudden surge of desire.

"It's just a pen," she reasoned through a whisper, trying to rationalize her growing curiosity. "But maybe... just a little exploration."

With a deep breath, Zara positioned the pen near her lap. Her free hand slid down her body, tracing the contours of her thighs until she reached the juncture between them. She hesitated for a moment, then gently pressed two fingers against her clit, feeling the immediate rush of warmth.

"Oh," she gasped softly, her eyes closing as she began to rub in slow circles. The sensation was familiar yet new, heightened by the presence of the pen so close to her throbbing core.

Zara's movements grew bolder, her fingers now sliding smoothly along her wetness. She could feel herself getting wetter, the moisture coating her fingers and dripping down her wrist. The pen lay beside her, still untouched, but its potential was clear.

"Should I?" she questioned herself, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes, why not?"

Gripping the pen firmly, Zara aligned its bulbous tip with her entrance. Her other hand continued to work her clit, building the tension higher and higher. She took a deep breath, then slowly pushed the pen inward.

"Ah!" Zara's back arched involuntarily as the pen entered her, stretching her in a way that felt both strange and incredibly pleasurable. The bulbous end filled her completely, making her gasp at the intensity of the sensation. The pen was meant for wide marks to cover space when drafting.

She paused, letting her body adjust to the new feeling. The pen was deep inside her now, and she could feel every contour of its shape against her inner walls. Zara's hand returned to her clit, her fingers moving faster as she began to rock her hips, thrusting the pen in and out.

Her natural auburn hair tousled as she laid back to the floor.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, her voice thick with desire. Each movement brought her closer to the edge, the pen gliding effortlessly in her wetness. Zara's breathing became ragged, her body tense as she approached her climax.

"I'm going to..." she started to say, but her words were cut off by a sharp knock on her door. Startled, Zara froze, the pen still inside her, her hand on her clit.

"Zara, are you okay in there?" came her mother's voice from the other side of the door. "You've been awfully quiet after dinner?"

Zara's heart pounded in her chest, her body still primed for release. She couldn't respond, her mouth dry and her mind racing. She led out a quiet moan and then quickly said, "Yes, I'm fine. Just working on a new piece."

She heard Vivian walking away.

Suddenly, the toll ofthe bus ride took her by storm, and she was gone to sleep.