Skye
I appeared in the art room in the castle, and everything was exactly the way it was the last time Julius and I worked there. I slipped my hands over the soft brushes and the colour plate that I used the last time I was there.
I practiced mixing colours and the paint dried exactly the way I left it. As my fingers slipped over the dried paint, the images of how happy I was that day filled my mind. My fingers slipped over the rough texture of the paper and I could see the paint touching the paper as the paper drank it in.
The colours change the paper from a plain boring colour to something amazing. I wondered why life couldn’t be like paper and paint. Why couldn’t the transformation just be what it was? Beautiful. Like when a caterpillar is turned into a butterfly, or better yet, wh
