Chapter 24: A Canvas of Secrets
Joy adjusted her hair nervously as Carter led her into the art gallery, a grand building constructed in the elegant Gregorian style. Its towering columns, intricate stone carvings, and vast stained-glass windows exuded timeless charm. The faint scent of oil paint and varnish lingered in the air, blending with the soft murmur of voices and the occasional click of shoes on polished marble floors.
"I didn't know you liked art," Joy said, glancing sideways at Carter, who wore a sly smile.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Carter replied, his tone teasing. "But I thought this might be a good way for us to... see if we click."
Joy arched an eyebrow. "You mean to check if we're compatible for this whole arranged-marriage thing?"
Carter laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Something like that. But mostly, I just wanted to spend time with you. No pressure."
His sincerity softened Joy's skepticism, and she offered a small smile. "Alright, let's see what you've got planned."
As they wandered through the gallery, Joy was impressed by the collection of art from various realms. Landscapes, portraits, and abstract works lined the walls, each illuminated by soft, golden light. Carter stopped occasionally to comment on a piece, his insights revealing a depth she hadn't expected.
But it wasn't until they entered a smaller, more intimate wing of the gallery that Joy's breath caught in her throat.
A series of paintings hung on the walls, all depicting birds in stunning detail-hawks, sparrows, and exotic creatures she couldn't name. The artistry was mesmerizing, each brushstroke bringing the feathers to life. But one painting stopped her in her tracks.
It was of a golden bird, perched on a branch against a stormy sky. Around its neck was a delicate necklace, shaped exactly like Joy's missing bird pendant.
"Is this...?" Joy whispered, her voice trailing off as she turned to Carter.
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with pink. "Yeah, that one's mine. It took me a year to paint."
"You painted this?" she asked, astonished.
Carter nodded. "I had this bizarre dream about a war-magic, chaos, and a bird that kept leading me through it. When I woke up, I couldn't get the image out of my head. So, I painted it."
Joy couldn't take her eyes off the painting. The stormy sky, the golden bird, the necklace-it all felt so familiar, as if it were more than a coincidence. Before she could respond, she felt a strange pull, her mind drawn to the painting as if the bird itself were calling to her.
In an instant, the gallery vanished.
Joy found herself standing on a desolate island, the sky above an unbroken expanse of dull gray. The air was thick, and the sound of waves crashing against jagged rocks filled her ears. At the center of the island stood a twisted tower, its surface covered in wilted roses and thorny vines that seemed to pulsate faintly, as if alive.
Her breath hitched as she heard a soft tweet behind her. Turning, she froze.
Standing ankle-deep in the ocean shallows was the wicked witch. Her cloak billowed around her despite the stillness of the air, and her neutral expression gave nothing away. Slowly, the witch raised a hand, palm outstretched.
"Give me the journal," she said, her voice calm but laced with authority.
Joy staggered back, her heart pounding. "The journal? How do you-why would I-"
"You know why," the witch interrupted, her tone unyielding. "It does not belong to you."
Joy clenched her fists, trying to summon her courage. "If you want it, come and take it."
The witch tilted her head, almost amused. "You misunderstand. This is not a threat. It is a warning. That journal will cost you more than you are prepared to pay."
Before Joy could respond, the witch's form began to dissolve, turning into a flock of black birds that soared past her, their wings brushing her skin like icy tendrils. The tower seemed to loom closer, the wilted roses shedding petals that turned to ash before hitting the ground.
Joy gasped, clutching her chest as the world began to spin.
When she opened her eyes, she was back in the gallery. Carter was gripping her shoulders, his face pale with concern.
"Joy? Are you okay? You just... zoned out."
Joy blinked, trying to steady her breathing. The painting was still there, its golden bird watching her as if it knew her secret.
"I... I'm fine," she said, though her voice trembled. "I just need some air."
Carter looked unconvinced but nodded. "Okay. Let's step outside."
As they left the gallery, Joy couldn't shake the image of the witch-or her ominous warning. The journal's mysteries were deepening, and she was no longer sure she could face them alone.
