I stood in an endless void, the air was thick and suffocating. The world around me was a wash of black, the ground beneath my feet indistinguishable from the sky, or lack of, above. Yet, in this darkness, there was an eerie calm. I had been here before. I knew very well what I was about to witness. Well, not entirely. Each time it was different. A different scene would play out before me like a silent film. I would watch entranced as figures or items, sometime even animals would show in front of me. They were always in negative space, outlined in white, like they were drawn on a chalkboard. It was always unnerving to watch, even though they would show me benign things. A wolf, an owl, some kind of flower, trees, a flame and an eye. Each vision I saw would always end with a bright light in the shape of a burst star. That was usually when I woke up. Yet, the vision had not started. I looked around the blackness and nothing appeared. Without warning, my feet brushed against something soft. I glanced down, and a surge of anguish slammed into me, overwhelming everything else. A body lay at my feet. Tears were already streaming down my face, though I hadn’t realised it until then. I blinked through the blur, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make out who it was—just a white outline against the void. Yet, the pain was unmistakable, gnawing at my chest and pulling a sob from my throat. A voice whispered inside me: I did this.

My hands shook uncontrollably as tears dripped down into the endless void. I wanted to reach out, to touch them, but my fingers wouldn’t obey. A sob tore through me, louder this time. This person was beautiful—achingly so—perfect and beloved beyond words. I did this, I heard again. But just as the grief settled in, a sudden prickle of panic crawled up my spine. I wasn’t alone. The weight of another presence pressed against me, and I turned slowly, afraid of what I might see. My breath caught in my throat. A stranger emerged from the shadows, outlined in vivid red—each step they took toward me deliberate, their hand slowly unfurling in my direction. My breath hitched. The stranger took one step towards me as the colour changed from searing red to a deep purple. For reasons I couldn’t explain, the deep purple soothed me, its warmth drawing me in. It felt familiar, almost comforting. Still, the stranger’s face remained hidden, their features impossible to make out, but something in me knew them. They took another step forward, hand outstretched in invitation. My feet moved without thinking, drawn closer by the pull between us. My hand rose to meet theirs but before they touched, I watched as smoky green tendrils snaked around their arm and reached out and wrapped around my wrist, bringing us closer. Something about this felt wrong—too much, too fast.

“No!” I heard my voice echo in the void and pulled my hand back. The swirling tendrils of smoke snapped like broken ribbons as I jerked my hand back to my chest. My breath quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow. The stranger before me shifted again, their purple outline dissolving into a harsh, blinding green. It was too bright—painfully bright—and I had to fight the urge to look away. My heart pounded in my ears as they stepped closer, the glow of their presence suffocating in its intensity, beautiful yet utterly terrifying. Their lips parted.

“Elena…” their voice was soft but familiar, so familiar. The smoke tendrils started to swirl around them. The lines of the figure started to take a clear shape. I tried to focus on their features. Long hair, yes they had long hair. Was that a woman’s shape? Who was this?

“Elena…” They repeated, and the sound seemed to stretch, to twist, this time more urgent, more desperate. I snapped my eyes back to their face. Their eyes—blazing white—grew impossibly brighter, pulling me in. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t resist, as if I were hypnotised. Then with a shrill shriek I heard my name and a flash of the eye symbol appeared followed by the burst star.

“ELENA!”

I gasped, eyes snapping open. My heart thundered in my chest, the sound echoing in the quiet of my room. The harsh glow of my laptop screen stung my eyes as I sat up, rubbing my face. My heart finally steadied and I let out a long yawn. Great, I am going to be exhausted for the rest of the evening. These dreams have become more frequent and more vivid. Those last images were ingrained in my vision. Lingering like ghosts every time I blinked my eyes.

The dead figure, the stranger, the eye and the burst star. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes and there they were again in a flash. I sighed and glanced at the clock on my laptop. Quarter to six, and the sun had already set. The laptop illuminated my room in a faint neon glow and I turned around and looked out my window. I could see the hint of yellow where the sun was setting, the gradients of blue now taking over in the winter sky. I got up from my desk where I had slumped over and went for a nap, stretched and walked over to the window. No snow yet, which was strange for December. Out here in the Waterow ‘burbs, there was usually a soft flurry or a thick white blanket by now. I frowned in disappointment, my breath fogging up the glass and I moved back to my desk.

My unfinished report sat there, staring back at me. A dull Gantt chart, filled with lifeless timelines for a project we had to present in Professor Allan’s Business Admin class. I knew this was the safe route, the one my parents always dreamed of for me. They never got to go to college – they had me at seventeen, and every decision they made was for me. I loved them for that.

But I hadn’t known what I wanted to do with my life, not really, and so I let their dreams become mine. Studying business had seemed practical, secure. The right choice.

Except…staring at this chart now, it didn’t feel like my choice at all.

I closed my eyes, and the images from my dream flashed before me again, more insistent this time, demanding my attention. “Okay, okay, I get it,” I muttered to no one. I snapped my laptop shut and flicked on my desk lamp, its softer glow a welcome relief. I pulled out my sketchbook and pencils from the drawer. The dreams had started when I turned eighteen, almost two years ago now. At first, they were infrequent—maybe once every couple of months. But over the past year, they had grown worse, more intense and frequent. I tried to ignore them, dismissing them as just dreams, but soon they began to slip into my waking hours, flashes of them disrupting my vision. It wasn’t until about three months ago, when I absentmindedly doodled one during class, that they finally began to ease up. Like a silent scream suddenly stifled.

After that class, I went straight to the local art store, completely out of my depth as I stared at all the sketchbooks and pencils. Different types of paper and pencils—I didn’t have a clue. Art wasn’t my thing. I hadn’t taken it in high school, and I was sure my parents wouldn’t have approved. They’d always nudged me towards mathematics, computing, and business admin. Science was acceptable, but it never really sparked anything in me.

I spotted a simple sketchbook with a sticker that read Black Paper A5 Notebook. I stopped and picked it up, running my fingers over its plain, hardback cover. The pages were thick, almost like card stock, and pitch black—just like my dreams. My eyes widened. This was it. But what could I use to draw on it? None of the pencils would show up. Gel pens? No, they always faded over time. As confusion overtook me, a smooth, slightly raspy voice broke through my thoughts.

“Excuse me, miss, do you need any help?”

I glanced up into stunning blue eyes and froze. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realised I was staring. The guy standing in front of me looked about my age, tall and built like a football player—not someone you’d expect to find working in an art store. His hair was a thick, wavy golden blonde, casually styled, and his features were all sharp edges and angles—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a square chin that made him look confident. The kind of guy you want to back away from with an ‘I’m not worthy’ grin. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with amusement as I scrambled for words.

“Oh, uh, I just found this black paper sketchbook and was wondering what the best instrument was,” (Instrument? Really?) “tool, even,” (That’s not any better, Elena!) “that I could use to draw in it.”

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I wanted to crawl into my dream void and disappear.

But the guy smiled, his full lips curving upward, and I immediately looked away, even more embarrassed.

“Ah, a first-time artist, and already choosing a bold medium,” he said, his voice warm and good-natured. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, it’s just something I wanted to try,” I replied, feeling a bit less awkward. “You know how it is when a crazy idea just hits you?” He nodded. “Oh, definitely. That’s what art’s all about—experimenting, trying out different mediums.”

Mediums? I made a mental note to look that up later.

He leaned closer, glancing at the sketchbook in my hand. “Let’s see what your options are.” He gestured with his head to follow him, and I did. I casually put my hands behind my back and tried to look cool and casual while surveying all the different supplies. Who knew there were so many options for something simple as drawing? This whole art thing still felt foreign to me, but I think it was the only way I could keep those dreams under control. Something about translating the images to paper brought me a weird sense of peace. It was like my mind couldn’t hold the weight of the visions, but once they were sketched out, they stopped screaming at me. Honestly, I could use the reprieve.

The guy brought me back over to the pencils and hovered his hand over the charcoals. I felt my brow furrow in confusion until he picked up white charcoal pencils. They came in white? I didn’t even know that was possible. He handed them to me and said, “This should do it. Although you need to be careful as it smudges easily, unless you intend to smudge for shading techniques.”

I took the pencils and examined them and some part of me knew this was it. This was what I needed.

“So, they are quite vibrant on the black paper then?” I asked, still half-distracted by my thoughts.

“Yep” he emphasised the “p” in a playful way, snapping me back to the moment.

“what’s the best way to use them without smudging?” I added, now more invested in learning the technique. My drawings didn’t have to be perfect, but if I could avoid smudging the whole thing into a blurry mess, I’d feel like I’d accomplished something.

“Draw from top to bottom if you can and use a fixative spray.” He bent over to grab a small spray can from the bottom of the shelf and I refused to feel guilty from having a small peek at his quite rounded backside. Focus Elena. I shot my eyes back to him before he noticed me staring like an idiot. He straightened up and handed me the small can.

“O-okay, just spray this, in a well-ventilated area, on your finished drawing and let dry. You shouldn’t have any issues. Some artists like to invest in tissue paper between the sheets for extra protection.” He raised an eyebrow at me and smirked, “I could find you some A5 size if you like?”

Again, those blue eyes fixed on mine and my cheeks flared. Why did he have to be so ridiculously charming? I looked at the notebook, charcoal pencils, and the spray and already knew this was going to be way more than my wallet could handle. Art supplies are definitely not budget-friendly.

“I think I will try this for now but will pop in again if I find I need it,” I smiled back at him.

He smiled back, reaching out to take the items from my hands. “Here, let me take those to the register for you and ring you up. Unless... there’s anything else you’d like?” There was a flicker of something in his eyes—hopeful, maybe? Or maybe that was just me projecting. Calm down, Elena. He’s just doing his job.

“No thanks, I’m good with this.” I replied quickly, grateful that chivalry wasn’t dead. We walked back to the register, and with each beep, my heart sank. Art is an expensive hobby, I sighed inwardly. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me—this time.

“That’ll be thirty-five seventy-five in total,” he said, after scanning the last item. My eyes widened, and he must have noticed because he added quickly, “Oh wait, do you have a student card? Sorry, I forgot to ask—students get 15% off.”

I smiled in relief, nodding quickly as I fumbled for my wallet. My fingers seemed to forget how to work as I tried to pull the card out. My nerves were obvious, but I finally handed him the student ID, trying to steady my hands.

He glanced at it, then grinned cheekily. “Eleanor—now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

I looked down, clearing my throat. “Actually, I go by Elena. Eleanor was my great-grandmother’s name.” I cringed internally—way too much information for a stranger.

He handed back my card, his smile still in place. “You too? My mom didn’t want her maiden name to disappear, so they named me Carter.”

I chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Carter.”

“Likewise, Elena.” He adjusted the total. “That’s thirty thirty-eight.”

Still a bit steep, but I swiped my card anyway.

I had moved to the comfort of my bed, white charcoal in hand, sketching on autopilot. The familiar figures from my dream appeared before me: the dead figure, smudged and blurred, just as it had been in the dream. My chest tightened at the memory. That overwhelming anguish, the sense that I should know this person... how could I?

I sighed, starting on the next drawing—the stranger. I remembered the strange flashes of colour: red, purple, and green. Odd. My dreams were always black and white, yet this one stood out. I’ll have to figure out what those colours mean later.

As I flipped to a new page, I began sketching the recurring eye. It always looked ancient, like a symbol from a forgotten time. The lashes long, curling both above and below, the iris shaped like an upside-down crescent moon cradling the pupil.

I glanced up at the picture on my wall—my favourite, a lotus flower sketched in purples with the word “Clarity” written underneath. The soft lavender of my room walls seemed to deepen in the evening light. My gaze wandered to the posters scattered haphazardly across the room. The chaotic display of Fuse, my favourite band, had remained untouched since high school. Though I was now in college, my room felt frozen in time, a teenage sanctuary I hadn’t yet outgrown. The polaroid pictures caught my eye next, pinned randomly around the posters and clustered near my desk. Mama had found her old camera buried in the garage when I was seventeen and handed it to Val, Iah and I to play with. We spent the summer capturing everything and nothing at all. I smiled softly, my gaze drifting to the bookshelf where the camera now sat, a reminder of those carefree days. I need to get the gang back together. Since college started, we’d drifted apart. Val was off somewhere in Italy with her modeling career, and Iah... she was up north, studying history at the University of Averon, the same place her father, Professor Aldea, taught. Meanwhile, I stayed here in Waterow, studying Business Administration at the City College of Averon, thanks to a scholarship I secured which helped my parents immensely. Life changed dramatically going from high school to college. My smile faded. We were always different, and deep down, I knew were headed down separate paths. My gaze settled on a certain polaroid in particular. It was of the three of us: Val, tall and slender, her blonde hair perfectly swept, posing like the supermodel she practically was. Then there was Iah, short and curvy, her wild curls bouncing as she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, making fun of Val’s pose. I chuckled to myself, remembering how furious Val had been when the photo developed. She gave Iah such a bollocking, but Iah just giggled and bounced around, completely unfazed.

And there I was in the middle, my bright red hair and freckles standing out against my slightly tanned skin, laughing so hard because I’d caught Iah’s expression just before Mama snapped the picture.

Shifting on the bed, I listened to the familiar creak of its wooden frame. All the furniture around me – the desk, bookshelf, dresser – had once been someone else’s cast-offs before Dad brought them back to life. He loved finding forgotten things, often dragging home pieces he thought had potential, restoring them in the garage until they were good as new. He’d always joke about finding hidden stories in the nicks and dents, imagining who might have used them before. For a moment, I wished I had that same knack for mending things.

But I wasn’t like him. All I could do was capture broken things in sketches, the dead figure from my dreams haunting me with every stroke of charcoal. Sketching offered some relief, like a painkiller dulling the ache. Still, I could never tell my parents. How could they help when I wasn’t even sure what was wrong? They’d think I was losing my mind, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation. So, when the fatigue hit and my visions bled into reality, I would just say I’d pulled another all-nighter studying. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the act before they intervened.

Closing my eyes, I saw the star again. I began sketching it next, letting the lines flow naturally onto the page. The soft glow of my lamp lit the drawings, making them feel even more haunting, as if they might move of their own accord. My thoughts drifted back to that day at the art store... to Carter.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was sweet, and I was an awkward mess. Typical.

The sharp trill of my phone jolted me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and grinned, answering with a playful, “Heeeeeyyy you!”

A warm, familiar voice replied, “Heeeeyyyy, it’s me.”

Carter.

I closed my sketchbook, running my fingers over the rough cover as I leaned back against the wall on my bed. “I was just thinking about you... about how far we’ve come since that day in the art store.”

There was a brief pause before he laughed softly. “You mean that day I almost let you walk away without asking you out? Definitely not my finest moment, but I’m forever grateful you said yes.”