Once Upon a Story [ INCONSISTENT UPDATES ]

The Sketcher

❝ 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 ❞

Word count: 1808

— 𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞 ✏️ ❞

In the cloud of the internet, lies a creator, an artist with the world's finest pen and even finer skill. On her page, she displays portraits, pictures recreated to their most pristine form—all without colour, shining in a monochromatic greyscale yet glistening with texture and shades only colours could portray.

All captured from a single glance of her eyes and printed on paper through her graphite pencil. It was the quality that made Elora's art alluring.

That morning, she woke up and found an odd request in her messages. The profile had no picture, and the account was just as void as if created that day.

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝, 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚘. 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

Elora stared at the message, confused. It had been long years since she faced her subject. Born with an incredible photographic memory, it never took more than a glance for memories to remain plastered in her mind. It was filled with vivid images, passing by like scenes in a movie.

But that wasn't the reason she avoided in-person sessions. Not at all. Her blatant ignorance of their existence following that glance made them uncomfortable. Her intense focus meant the world around her ceased to exist when her eyes veered to her paper. The silence was unbearable to most who became witness to its presence.

Elora looked at the message again and replied with a time scheduled for later that afternoon. She thought it best to prepare her studio and took stock of her clothes. Baggy and filled with holes, they were clothes Elora didn't care to cover in charcoal and dust. She thought to look more presentable but found herself wearing clothes barely different from the ones she woke up in. They were dark and dreary, still baggy and hanging around her frame, but clean and without holes. She slipped on her shoes, a pair of blindingly white sneakers she cleaned regularly and tucked on her matching hat. She unhooked her canvas tote and headed to her studio with her keys and phone.

It wasn't cold outside, but her body, used to inside temperatures, felt a chill walking in the damp outdoors. She hurried to her studio and saw a ghost at the door, a man with icy pale lashes and even whiter hair. His skin, so fair, shined bright in the outdoor gloom. A collared white shirt peaked out from under his loose black cardigan. He was dressed like her, simple with blinding contrast.