Sera’s pov:
I sat by my window, hugging my knees to my chest and looking down at the garden. Everything outside was perfect. The hedges were trimmed, the paths were clean, and the fountain bubbled away as if the world were a peaceful place. But I felt completely wrong. I felt unsettled, like a vital part of my life had been ripped out, and no one had told my heart how to keep beating without it.
I hadn't touched a paintbrush in two days.
Every time I reached for one, my hand would just freeze. The colors looked like mud to me, and I couldn't make any shapes form on the canvas. My brain was stuck in a loop, replaying memories of him: the way he rested his forehead against mine, the heat of his hand in my hair, and the way his voice turned low and soft whenever he said my name. But then,
