WITCH - ARA

Twenty five

Suggested song: Masterpiece by Cloudy June

☆

I step into the gallery, my feet echoing softly on the polished floor. It's been days-days of dead ends, days of Keith and Aiden arguing, days of me trying to piece together the broken fragments of my world. They've been fixated on Ava, and I get it, I really do. I need her back, too. But the pain of Silas's absence-it cuts deeper. And maybe that's why I did something so reckless, trying to summon her spirit. But even that failed.

Keith warned me. "Don't summon someone so recently passed," he'd said, his voice calm but firm. But I had to try. What else could I do? Silas...Ava... it's like pieces of my soul are missing, and no matter what I do, I can't get them back.

So now, here I am, in Keith's gallery. It's the only place that feels like some kind of anchor. Right now, I feel like I'm floating, lost. He's the only one who seems to know how to pull me back to the ground. As soon as I step inside, the smell of paint and something...familiar...fills the air.

And then I see it.

A huge painting, hanging on the wall right in front of me. It takes my breath away.

It's me.

I can't move. I'm staring, my eyes wide, my heart thudding in my chest. He's painted me-*exactly* me, like he ripped the image from my mind, or from...no, that can't be. It's the same image I saw online, the one that made me feel seen for the first time in a while. But this? This is different. More vivid, more alive. Like I'm looking at a version of myself I didn't even know existed.

The colors... they swirl and dance, soft hues of blues and deep reds that make my skin glow in the painting. I've never thought of myself as beautiful, not like this. But he saw me. Keith saw me, and he captured it. My hands, trembling, reach out slightly, as if touching the air between me and the painting will make it real.

I feel a rush of something-admiration, fear, confusion. Why would he do this? Why me?

Whispers pull me out of my trance. I blink, tearing my gaze from the painting and glancing around. There are people-strangers-pointing at the portrait, at me, murmuring things I can't make out. I stiffen, suddenly feeling exposed, like I've been caught staring into something too intimate, too raw.

I need to find Keith.

With quick steps, I head toward his office, my mind racing.

I walk into his office, knocking, but before I can say anything, Keith looks up and smiles slightly. "Oh, hi. You don't have to knock when it's you, you know," he says, returning to his painting, focused but clearly aware of my presence.

I sit on the chair next to his which was facing him, I hesitate. "Yeah... I just felt lonely, so I came to see you." My voice is softer than I intended, and my mind races with everything that's happened. "Also, I saw the painting of me. Why?"

His brush doesn't stop moving, but he chuckles. "How long are you going to pretend you don't know why?"

I feel a shiver run down my spine, but I shake my head. He always talks like this, as if he knows more than he should, as if everything I feel or think is somehow obvious to him.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, swallowing the uncertainty.

He nods, still focused on his work. "Go ahead."

"Can you paint me?" My heart races as the words leave my mouth.

"I've done it plenty of times." His tone is casual, almost dismissive, but I'm not done.