The aroma of sweet pastry wandered its way to Janie's nose, making her rise from her bed half asleep. She opened her eyes as steady as a snail and took her time coming to her senses. Her lower body was wrapped in her green blanket, which she assumed Moranda covered her when she was knocked out last night.

Within three days, Janie has already established what kind of person Moranda is. Calm, emotional, complex, and inventive. Yesterday was what brought her to this conclusion. Witnessing her calmly teach her various shapes she can use to draw anatomy and patiently observing and guiding her towards the correct path made Janie develop a deep admiration for her like a mentor. She had to admit that when Moranda made her compare her old sketches with her recent ones, she noticed the improvement. Reflecting on her improvement yesterday made Janie giddy.

Moranda hovered her palm over her mouth, covering her yawn. Janie guessed the sweet smell snapped her out of her hibernation. But now Janie had a question... since when did ghosts sleep?

Before she got the opportunity to ask her question, Moranda extended her arm in front of Janie, pausing her in her act. Moranda could already tell what was coming from the expression on her face. Moranda read her inside out.

Just then, her father’s heavy footsteps could be heard stomping towards her room. Janie sluggishly centered her eyes on her door, waiting for her father to barge in with a plate full of food. Her dad likes to do that a lot on the weekends. It was like a competition between them. A competition to make the other one give in to their desire... the desire being food. So far, none of them have failed, and Janie was prepared for when her dad stepped foot into her room.

Her old man opened the door, revealing him holding a plate of carrot cake. He looked her dead in the eyes as he slowly raised his fork with a piece of carrot cake inside his mouth, taking his time chewing it. Janie was getting jealous, but she mustn’t submit to her desires.

Her father looked at her table and noticed an enormous pile of papers. He guessed she brought up art again and mentioned it to his daughter sitting in bed. Janie felt delighted that her father noticed and formed a smug smile.

"Why don't you go ahead and draw me eating this!" He asked, chuckling.

Janie rolled her eyes as she chuckled. Her little brother came running up the stairs, stopping behind his dad. He had another plate of carrot cake with him. Janie's dad picked it up, and her little brother sprinted back down the stairs. She held her hand out to embrace the delicious and mouth-watering carrot cake that her mother made. He scoffed at the sight of his dramatic daughter.

After she got her treat, he left the room. Now, it is back to Janie and Moranda. After inspecting the carrot cake, Janie thought she might as well go along with her dad's idea. But she would not be drawing him, only the cake. She got up, struggling to get her feet out of her covers while juggling the plate in her hand, but she eventually placed the plate safely on her table. Moranda watched in amazement. She had never seen Janie have a brilliant idea and go out of her way to get it done. This made her warm inside, filling up an empty part of her.

Abruptly, out of nowhere, she saw Janie scavenging for the colored markers she had hidden away in her art drawer. She roughly searched for them and slammed the drawers with a loud bang, going on to the next one and repeating the cycle. Although Moranda got a mini-heart attack after snapping back to reality with the loud rumbling, she proceeded to help her search for the colors she needed. She checked the table, gently brushing her hand on the wooden table, and then went onto a different surface. After a few minutes of fishing for her supplies, she found them hidden underneath her bed. Which was suspiciously puzzling because she did not remember how they got there.

Nonetheless, she reached for the markers and sat down in her chair with her sketchbook in front of her. It was an all-media sketchbook. Each piece of paper had a hard texture but a smooth surface, making it possible for the marker ink to not bleed through the pages.

Janie got to work, examining the cake set before her eyes, catching every color, and replicating it on the paper. Moranda monitored her from a safe distance.

Janie tried to get the exact color of the cake, but it was useless. No matter how much she blended, she never got the precise color she wanted. She gave up on the markers and swiftly got up to find her colored pencils. Moranda's eyes followed her, watching her aggressively struggle to pull the box of colored pencils out of her drawer. Janie walked back to her desk and began redrawing and coloring. The colored pencils were of cheap quality and did not blend well, making Janie frustrated and get up again to grab another pair of colored pencils. It was a rinse and repeat; color, fail, replace. Moranda wanted to help her out, but she saw Janie's determination and refrained from lending a helping hand until she asked for it. 15 minutes into coloring, Janie's hand was starting to cramp. She plopped the orange color pencil she was holding on her desk and began stretching her hand, opening and closing her fist. At this point, she was exhausted. She gave up trying to blend the orange and brown colors together. Wondering what she was doing wrong, she turned to Moranda with pleading eyes.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Moranda was her savior, swooping in to help Janie. She directed her to color lightly before mixing the orange and brown together. As Janie colored, she listened to every piece of advice Moranda said, and as she followed, she saw an improvement. Although the colors were light, the carrot cake looked exactly like her drawing. The colors mixed smoothly, making the drawing look soft.

Janie let out a sigh of relief. She felt like she accomplished something huge. Moranda smiled, thinking about how this was Janie's first step to improving her artwork.

The outside world was now bustling with noise, as expected. It was around twelve-fifteen in the morning when the both of them finished. Janie stretched herself out on her chair, cracking her knuckles, twisting her back, and releasing her locked knees. It felt like her tense body was relieving her soul with that stretch. After, she hunched and yawned, not covering her mouth. Moranda passed her hand in front of Janie's mouth, covering her yawn.

"So, you gonna show your dad your drawing?" Moranda

curiously asked.

Janie nodded her head, scratching her head before stretching again.

Morand was confused, "why not?"

"Cause, that's embarrassing. I'll probably show him later or put it on the fridge." Janie hunched again, looking outside her window with her tired eyes.

As Jaine peered out of her window, she saw a lady walk by wearing a skirt pleated like bellows on an accordion. The pleats stood out against the lady's casual wear, catching the wandering eyes of the girl above her. A wave of inspiration surged through Janie's body as she slid her sketchbook toward herself, snatching the nearest lead pencil, and energetically scribbled the pleats in different visuals. One sketch of the pleats swaying in the wind, another still, and another crumpled to recreate the effect of a person sitting. Even though her eyes were heavy from the endless struggle to match the color of a cake, her drive to proceed sketching was still burning, making loose, random lines and connecting them to create an effect. The coal fueling the soaring fire leisurely burned down as Janie started getting restless and her hand cramping her.

Moranda's eyes shot up in surprise. She was astounded after seeing Janie spring up with a burning passion, only for it to die down eventually. Nonetheless, she was proud that she was taking her art journey seriously. After all, she was the one who asked her for help.

Janie rocked in her chair, leaning back to see Moranda staring at her from above. Moranda's corners of her lips curled up, her eyes gazing down on Janie with a warming look. She tried to ruffle Janie's hair, only for her to receive a cold shock traveling down her spine. She grew accustomed to the sudden waves of coldness every time Moranda touched her, but it did not help that wincing at every gentle touch of her cold, ghostly hand, made Moranda quickly retract and feel suddenly guilty. Someday, Janie hopes that she will not shiver at her coldness. Maybe then Moranda would continue giving her affectionate touches.

Then, before Moranda could speak to her, she cut her off, beginning to mention a recurring thought she kept in mind. The recurring thought in question was about Moranda’s life. She would always give snippets of her thoughts and then cut Janie off the minute she questioned her. She left her on a cliffhanger yesterday and the day before, and today she was going to interrogate her until she finally gives in, until she reveals the life she kept hidden away from her. No one was able to escape her curious mind, not even her teachers who were accustomed to her bizarre questions after months.

Janie would not relax her mind until she got an honest answer from Moranda, not a half-assed one. As she looked dead in her eyes, she could see that she was confused by her actions. And so, Janie began to speak.

“Who killed you?” Janie blatantly asked.

Morand hesitantly looked away from Janie and her question, looking down at the wooden floor. Janie retracted herself before she asked any more questions. She looked at Moranda as she fiddled with her thumbs. Her eyes had a tired gaze to them, and her puffy ginger hair returned to a deflated reddish hue, the same way it was at the anime store. Her brown eyes had no glint in them, signifying the fact that she is dead, let alone the fact that her death was sudden.

Maybe I should put off questioning her for now… Janie thought to herself.

Janie didn’t know how she died, but she knew that it must’ve been traumatic for her. One day Moranda will be comfortable enough to open up, but right now isn’t a good time, they’ve only known each other for three days now.

She looked back at her disordered desk, thinking about whether she should continue drawing. But how can she go back to drawing after she unsettled Moranda? It’s not the same if she isn't looking over her.

Janie got up and informed Moranda that she was going to eat and eventually left her room, closing the door behind her to leave Moranda alone to herself. Moranda already read through Janie and knew she wasn’t going to come back up for some time. She knew that Janie felt guilty, so instead of following her, she stayed obediently in her room and skimmed her eyes over to Janie’s bed.

A surge of regret flowed through Moranda as she looked at Janie's successful sketches and drawings. She was able to achieve something while she couldn’t, even after death. Moranda furrowed her eyebrows, taking a peep at the other sketches in her sketchbooks she had on the table. Janie was able to return to her optimistic, bright self again because she got a surge of motivation, but Moranda’s motivation was long gone. It’s not like she could come back and paint again. She was dead. And she died while trying to grasp onto something to bring her senses back into art. It doesn’t help her case that she died with a painting that was irredeemable and ugly in her eyes. It was a reminder that she slacked off too much, and that was why she died. A reminder that that loathsome idiotic excuse of an artist saw her last attempt at saving herself from a load of debt.

Moranda rested her head on her fisted hand. Decaying away in her regret.