Time seemed to stretch, each day merging seamlessly into the next, as the rhythm of routine settled over the orphanage like a familiar, well-worn blanket. Yet, despite its comfort, an unexplained sense of unease lingered, a tension palpable in the air.

I often found myself sitting by the pond, seeking solace in the act of sketching, which had become a refuge where I could escape the chaos of my thoughts. The sensation of the pencil in my hand, smoothly moving across the page, brought a sense of calm and clarity to my chaotic thoughts, like a guiding hand leading me through the maze of my mind. But today, my mind was elsewhere, swirling with emotions I couldn’t quite name. Something weighed on me, a nameless feeling of anticipation and uncertainty that pressed down on my chest, persistent and unyielding. It clung to me like a shadow.

Ellie's presence stayed in my mind, evoking a blend of curiosity and confusion within me as her enigmatic demeanour sparked a desire to unravel the mysteries she seemed to hold. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt... distracting. I often caught myself stealing glances at her, trying to decipher the layers behind her thoughtful expressions as if her very presence held secrets waiting to be uncovered. There was an undeniable something between us, a connection neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge, yet it gnawed at the edges of my mind, persistent and distracting.

The orphanage had been alive with activity lately. The upcoming festival loomed large on everyone’s mind, and preparations consumed our days. It was supposed to be an exciting time, but underneath it all, I couldn’t shake a feeling of quiet anxiety. The festival was a break from monotony, a chance to be part of something larger, yet it loomed over me like a storm cloud, bringing its pressures.

As I sat, staring blankly at my unfinished sketch, I watched my friends from a distance, seeking a moment of connection and camaraderie amidst the solitude of my artistic pursuit. Sarah and Claire were weaving garlands by the old oak tree near the broken wall. They laughed as they worked, their hands deftly arranging the delicate flowers. The blooms swirled in vibrant hues under the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the subdued tones of my sketches. The tree had always been a landmark for us—a boundary of sorts between the safety of the orphanage and the untamed world beyond.

Theo and Jenna were also nearby, searching through various items they had taken from storage. They were trying to decide what might sell at the festival. I could hear their laughter and see their easy banter, finding comfort in how they could light up even the most mundane tasks.

Ellie sat next to me, her calm presence both anchoring and disorienting, gently reminding me of the connection we had. Her quiet presence grounded me like an anchor, yet a subtle unease lingered, unsettling my thoughts. I watched as a breeze ruffled her hair, causing her to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. She was looking at the scattered sketches around me, her eyes thoughtful.

"We’re three weeks away," she said, breaking the comfortable silence between us. Her voice was soft, but it pulled me back from my wandering thoughts. "How many drawings do you think you’ll have ready by then?"

I shrugged; my voice filled with uncertainty. “I don’t even know what people would want to buy, what they would find worth their coins."

Ellie leaned closer, her enthusiasm shining through. “Maybe portraits? People love those at festivals—they want to see themselves reflected in art."

Portraits. The idea didn’t sit well with me. I’d always drawn things that came from inside—things that felt personal. Portraits felt foreign to me, like a betrayal of my inner world, letting others peer too closely into my soul, and I wasn’t ready for that.

Portraits. The idea felt daunting. "I don’t think portraits are for me," I replied slowly. "They take a lot of time, and I’m not that skilled. Besides, I don’t want people to know I drew them."

Ellie nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Then draw what feels right. People will see the value if the art is good."

Her words eased some of the tension in my chest, though the seed of doubt still lingered. Ellie had noticed my recent switch to pencils, a shift from the chalk sticks I’d used for so long.

“What inspired the change?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

I hesitated the weight of unspoken words and uncertainties bearing down on me. “I’m trying to improve,” I finally admitted, but the truth ran deeper—there were layers of change I wasn’t ready to reveal."

Ellie’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before she smiled again. "You’re growing," she said softly. "It’s good to challenge yourself."

The conversation continued, with Ellie talking excitedly about the festival while I listened. But my thoughts kept returning to the chalk sticks—the strange way they seemed to regenerate when they were almost worn down. There was something about them, something that felt... different.

A few days later, I found myself standing outside Mrs. Helen’s office. The orphanage was a flurry of activity, with preparations for the festival taking up most of the staff’s attention. Mrs. Helen had been busier than usual, but I needed to talk to her about something important.

I knocked on the door, and her warm voice invited me in, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she welcomed me into her office. She was sitting at her desk, sorting through papers with a focused expression. When she looked up and saw me, her face brightened.

"Lumen," she greeted, her voice filled with warmth. "Come in, dear. What can I do for you?"

I shifted awkwardly as I stepped into the room, suddenly feeling unsure of myself. "I wanted to ask if I could meet with Mr. Dan," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Mrs Helen raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful look crossing her face, prompting a flicker of uncertainty in me as I wondered how she would respond to my request. "Ah, yes," she murmured. "You did mention that a while ago, didn’t you?"

She paused for a moment as if something had just come to mind. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "I nearly forgot. When you came to see me in the infirmary, you had that small wooden box with you, didn’t you? I remember saying I’d take you to see Dan about it once he was back in town."

I blinked, surprised that she remembered. The wooden box had slipped my mind, and I hadn’t come to talk about that.

"I... didn’t come about the box," I said hesitantly. "I wanted to ask him about making some frames. For my drawings."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Mrs. Helen’s expression softened as I spoke. "Ah, I see," she said. "You want frames for the festival, then?"

I nodded. "I was thinking about pricing some of my drawings for the stall. I wanted to ask if Mr. Dan could help with the frames. I was thinking of pricing them between 10 to 50 Brasscoins. But there’s one piece—one that I think is special. I’d like to price it at 1 Goldleaf. For that one, I’d need a custom frame."

Mrs. Helen’s smile widened, clearly pleased with my ambition. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Lumen," she said, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. "Dan will be more than happy to help with the frames. He’s been very busy with festival orders, but I’m sure we can find time to meet with him. How about tomorrow, during his lunch break? That’s the only time he’s free these days."

Relief washed over me, and I smiled. "That would be great. Thank you, Mrs. Helen."

Mrs. Helen stood and moved to the door. "Come on, let’s get this sorted out," she said kindly. "We’ll make sure everything is ready in time for the festival."

The next day, I found myself standing outside Mr. Dan’s workshop. Mrs. Helen had taken me to meet him during his lunch break, as promised. The workshop was small, nestled on the edge of town, and the scent of freshly cut wood hung in the air.

Mr. Dan was a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and rough hands, evidence of years spent working with wood. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a warm smile, though there was a seriousness in his gaze that told me he took his work very seriously, instilling in me a sense of respect for his craft.

"So," he said, his voice a deep rumble, "I hear you’re looking for some frames for your drawings."

I nodded, feeling a bit nervous under his steady gaze. "Yes, sir," I said. "I’m planning to sell some of my drawings at the festival, and I was hoping you could help me with the frames."

Mr. Dan leaned against his workbench, crossing his arms over his chest. "What size are we talking about?"

I thought for a moment, trying to explain it in a way that made sense. "About the size of a sheet of paper," I said, holding my hands up to show the approximate size. "Maybe... a little smaller than the posters you’d see in town."

Mr. Dan nodded thoughtfully. "That’s manageable," he said. "How many do you need?"

"About ten," I replied. "And one larger frame for a special piece."

He scratched his chin, considering the request. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I can get those done for you. It’ll take a bit of time, but we’ll have them ready before the festival."

I felt a wave of relief. "Thank you, Mr. Dan. I appreciate it."

He waved me off with a smile. "No need to thank me," he said. "I’m happy to help. Just make sure you bring me something good to frame."

I grinned, feeling a little more at ease. "I’ll do my best."

As we wrapped up our conversation, Mrs. Helen placed a hand on my shoulder. "See? I told you Dan would help."

I smiled up at her, grateful for her support. She had been a guiding light in my life at the orphanage, her steady presence a comfort amidst the uncertainty that often surrounded me.

"Mr. Dan," I said, looking back at him, "how do you know if a frame is right for a drawing?"

Mr. Dan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by my question, his expression shifting to one of genuine interest. “That’s a good question, Lumen. A frame should complement the artwork, not overpower it...".

“You want it to draw the eye in, but let the drawing speak for itself." He pointed to several frames on the wall, each narrating its story through distinct designs and craftsmanship. "Take these, for example. Notice how the wood grain adds warmth to the pieces inside them? It’s about creating harmony between the frame and the art."

I studied the frames closely, feeling a newfound appreciation for their craftsmanship. A flicker of realization crossed my mind. “I never thought about it that way. I usually just focus on the drawing itself, never considering how it would be presented," I admitted.

"That's where most artists start," Mr. Dan said with a nod. "But as you grow, you’ll realize that presentation matters just as much as the work itself. A well-framed piece can elevate your art in ways you wouldn’t expect."

Mrs. Helen watched us with a proud smile, and I felt a sense of encouragement swelling within me. "You know," she interjected, "Lumen has a real talent. His drawings have an emotion that pulls you in."

Mr. Dan’s gaze sharpened with interest. “Do you have any of your work with you? I’d like to see it.”

My heart raced at the thought. I had been hesitant to share my drawings, always feeling they were too personal to show to anyone. But this was different—Mr. Dan was not just any craftsman; he was a man who understood the delicate balance between art and framing. I hesitated for just a moment before reaching into my seat.

I pulled out two ready sketches, my palms sweaty as I laid them on the workbench. Mr. Dan leaned in closer, studying them with a discerning eye, while Mrs. Helen stood beside me, her presence both comforting and supportive.

"This is impressive," he said, looking up at me with genuine appreciation.

Seeing my hesitation, he encourages me to speak openly in this space.

I say there is one more but not finished; that is the one I want the special frame for.

Curious, they both asked to see the unfinished sketch. As I hesitated and mumbled, Mr. Dan suggested that sharing the unfinished sketch would help him understand the vision for the special frame better.

Then I, hesitantly shaking hands, take out my sketch. Carefully place it. As they saw, they were both mesmerized. "You’ve captured emotion in these, Lumen. This one, especially," he said, pointing to a drawing of the pond, the water glistening as it reflected the trees overhead. "You can almost feel the breeze and hear the rustling leaves."

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words. "Thank you," I replied, a bit shyly. "I try to draw what I feel when I’m there, capturing the essence of those fleeting moments, the emotions entwined with each brushstroke."

Mrs Helen nodded in agreement. "Lumen has a gift for storytelling through his art. It brings a piece of our world to life."

Mr. Dan’s voice softened, imparting wisdom. “You keep honing that talent, and you’ll find your voice. Every artist must embark on a journey to discover what lies within themselves."

I couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement. It was as if the weight of my uncertainty lifted just a little, replaced by a sense of possibility. "I want to make something special for the festival," I admitted. "Something that reflects the beauty of our town."

Mr. Dan nodded thoughtfully. "That’s the spirit. Remember, every piece of art carries a part of you. The more you invest yourself in your work, the more it resonates with others."

As our conversation continued, I felt a burgeoning camaraderie, a bond forming over our shared love for art and craftsmanship. Mr. Dan was more than just a craftsman; he was a mentor in the making, someone who understood the language of art and the emotions that came with it.

Eventually, our discussion turned back to the frames. I asked Mr. Dan about the materials he would use, eager to learn more about his craft. He explained the different types of wood, sharing stories of each piece as if they had their personalities.

"The oak is strong and sturdy, perfect for something that needs to last," he said. "But pine has a lightness to it, often used for sketches and lighter works. It allows the art to shine."

The thought of my drawings being framed in such beautiful wood filled me with excitement. The frames would protect my work and enhance its beauty, bringing a touch of elegance to each piece.

"How about you choose the wood for your special piece?" Mr. Dan suggested. "That way, it’ll feel even more personal."

I nodded enthusiastically, feeling my creative juices flowing. "I’d love that."

As we finalized the details, Mrs. Helen stepped aside, allowing us to continue our discussion. The warmth of their support wrapped around me, encouraging me to step further into my passion for art.

"Thank you, Mr. Dan," I said, my voice steady. "I appreciate all your help."

He grinned, the lines on his face deepening as he smiled. "It’s my pleasure, Lumen. I look forward to seeing what you create for the festival."

With plans in place, I left the workshop feeling lighter, the weight of uncertainty replaced by a spark of inspiration. I was eager to get started on my new drawings, each stroke of the pencil promising to carry a piece of my heart.

As I stepped outside, the afternoon sun bathed the town in a golden glow, and I was prepared to welcome whatever the future held.

With renewed determination, I returned to the orphanage, the sounds of laughter and preparation filling the air. The festival would soon be upon us, and for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to share my world with others.