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11: Coloring

On each page of the coloring book is a vivid black outline of a different scene - everything from sunsets to mountains to riverbanks and rolling deserts. Twisting plants and spiraling patterns and fluttering creatures accent the pages and I find myself engrossed in the beautiful images as I eagerly flip through every page.

Where did Master Synn find a book like this? There were old scrolls and even a few haphazardly twined together books back in my village, but this coloring book has a thick wood carved front and back cover and the pages are real paper rather than old raggedy handmade woven parchments.

Attached to the back of the book are a variety of utensils with ink of all colors. My mouth drops open when I see them and I tear them away from the back of the book eagerly, using every single color drawing various squiggles on the first page of the coloring book. These colors are ones I could have only dreamt of making art with back in my village.

I feel like I'm living a dream. How did he know? Or did he not know, but took a lucky guess? Why did he get this for me? Where did he find it? Is it because I told him I was bored here?

This tells me at least one thing about Master Synn: He listens to me.

I'm not sure Meben or my father ever listened much to anything I said; only my late mother seemed to remember anything I told her. Even the ladies in my village mostly wrote off the things I spoke to them about, preferring to talk about their own ideas or simply spend their time rattling off gossip.

I try not to forget that even though he seems kind, Master Synn killed someone. He's still dangerous and there is much I don't know about him. In fact, he's a bundle of mysteries and confusion. He's not like the boring, predictable, harmless ladies or one-track-minded like Meben; he's unpredictable, perceptive, and powerful.

I meander across the room to the bed and roll over on the bedsheets, sinking into the softness. With the coloring book cracked open to my scribble decorated page, I drag the colored utensils across the pale paper, filling in each area with wild patterns and varying hues.

Even in my wildest daydreams, I'd never expected to be able to draw or color with tools like this. Maybe one or two colors someday, but an entire assortment of shades and hues?

I don't know where Master Synn found this book, these utensils, or this incredible idea for entertainment. Is life really so different in this part of the continent? Is this a typical form of leisure for people here?

I run my coloring sticks around the bottom of a fluffy pink and purple cloud and tap my tongue against the roof of my mouth. The familiar sound of a wagon arriving interrupts my concentration, stirring my heartbeat to a race.

I'm terrified that what happened before may repeat itself. How often does Master Synn get visitors, and how regularly does he end up killing them?

I have no real method of keeping track of time in here. How long ago did he last have a visitor? How long have my sleeping sessions been and how much time have I spent so far just meandering around and coloring? Time seems to melt into itself inside this bedroom.