CHAPTER ONE
1992 Words
The studio smelled of turpentine and drying paint, sunlight catching on canvases stacked against the walls. Her fingers brushed across a half-finished canvas, smudging streaks of crimson and ochre, grounding herself in the rhythm of color.
A faint scent drifted in from the street below, thick and sweet. She froze, a shiver crawling up her spine. Her stomach tightened, her hands trembling.
Vanilla…
It wrapped around her memory, pulling her deep into a house she had once thought safe.
Her pulse spiked. Her legs wobbled. She forced herself toward the desk drawer, fingers shaking as they closed around a small bottle of pills. She lifted one, pressing it to her tongue. The tremor ran through her arms as she reached for a glass of water, swallowing the pill and washing it down.
Her knees weakened. She leaned against the desk, gripping the edge to steady herself. Slowly, her breathing evened out, though her hands continued to shake.
..........
Vanilla…
thick, clinging, everywhere…
I tried to breathe… but it wouldn’t fill my lungs…
His hand... too close... too fast… my stomach twisting…
I wanted to run… my legs wouldn’t move… my voice stuck…
Every nerve screaming: Get out. Hide. Escape.
The smell followed him... suffocating, sweet…
"fifi"
His smile… just a little… and my body froze…
The room closing in… air thick… nausea curling up my spine…
I wanted to disappear… wanted to vanish… wanted it all to stop…
.........
Her knees almost buckled. Her hands shook violently, gripping the desk for balance, but she felt a small, warm hand slip into hers.
“Mom…” her daughter whispered, voice soft, grounding, alive.
One breath. Two. She blinked, forcing her eyes open. “One moment, baby,” she murmured, squeezing the hand back, trying to anchor herself to the present.
The trembling eased slowly, her chest loosening, as she drew in a deep, steadying breath. The vanilla still lingered faintly in the air, but the room, the sunlight, the warmth of her daughter’s hand reminded her that she was here. She was alive.
Her knees steadied slowly. The tremor still danced faintly in her fingers, but she exhaled through it, focusing on the warmth of Aria’s hand still nestled in hers.
“Mom,” Aria whispered, looking up at her with those soft brown eyes that always seemed too knowing. “You were shaking.”
“I know, baby.” Seraphine bent down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “But I’m okay now, yeah? Just got a little dizzy.”
Aria studied her face, that thoughtful seriousness only seven-year-olds could have. Then she nodded, satisfied. “Okay. But you should sit down.”
Seraphine smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
She sat on the edge of the stool, waiting for her breath to even out. Aria returned to her small corner of the room, humming again, crayons scratching across the page. The air settled—still carrying a faint echo of vanilla, but quieter now, as if it, too, had decided to leave her in peace.
From somewhere behind them came the soft, scratchy sound of claws against canvas. “Luna,” Seraphine sighed, half-laughing. “Not the painting again.”
The gray cat blinked lazily from where she had hopped onto the table, her tail flicking back and forth like a slow metronome. Aria giggled, slipping free of her mother’s grasp.
“Luna’s helping you, Mommy,” she said, tugging the cat gently down.
“Oh, is she now?” Seraphine managed a faint smile, setting her brush aside. “Maybe she’ll paint the rent next month too.”
The cat meowed, unimpressed.
A knock came at the door two sharp taps, followed by a voice that didn’t bother waiting for permission.
“Seraph! Open up before I melt out here!”
Seraphine smiled despite herself. “It’s open, dumbass.”
Evelyn stepped inside, wearing one of her usual sundresses—yellow with tiny blue flowers—her brown hair pulled into a loose bun. She carried the scent of soap and coffee, and an energy that somehow filled every space she entered.
“Ugh, your studio always smells like art and tragedy,” she teased, closing the door behind her.
Seraphine chuckled, rolling her eyes. “It smells like paint, Evelyn.”
She was balancing two paper cups and a brown bag that smelled like heaven.
“Coffee and pastries from Harvey’s,” she announced, kicking the door shut behind her. “Because I know you probably forgot to eat breakfast again.”
“You say that like it’s a crime,” Seraphine replied, clearing a spot on the desk.
“It is, actually. Punishable by me sitting here and watching you eat every last crumb.”
Before Seraphine could respond, Aria squealed, “Aunty Evelyn!” and threw herself into Evelyn’s arms.
“Look at you!” Evelyn laughed, spinning her once before setting her down. “You’re getting taller every week. How am I supposed to keep up?”
Aria grinned proudly. “I’m almost eight!”
“Almost?” Evelyn feigned shock. “Already acting like sixteen.”
Seraphine chuckled softly, the sound lighter than before. “Don’t give her ideas.”
“Too late,” Evelyn said, plopping onto the couch. “She’s yours; the chaos is inherited.”
Luna leapt onto the armrest beside her, purring with regal entitlement.
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “And there’s the queen herself. You still spoil this cat more than yourself.”
“She earns it,” Seraphine said, feeding Luna a small piece of croissant.
“I swear you need human company,” Evelyn teased. “You, Aria, and the cat—it’s starting to sound like a children’s book gone wrong.”
“Oh, please,” Seraphine shot back. “I’ve got you.”
Evelyn laughed. “Lucky me.” She set the pastry bag down and stretched. “By the way, a kid at the shelter drew a whole family of purple cats today. Named them all after me.”
Seraphine smiled faintly. “Maybe she just sees your soul as purple.”
“Purple and chaotic, probably.” Evelyn grinned, hanging her bag on the doorframe. Her expression softened. “Hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” Seraphine said softly. “Just… had one of those moments again.”
Evelyn’s smile faded into something gentler. She crossed the room, her steps quiet against the wooden floor. “The smell again?”
Seraphine nodded, eyes lowering.
“Want to talk about it?”
Seraphine didn’t answer. She dipped her brush into a jar of water, watching the colors swirl together like a quiet distraction.
“That’s fair,” Evelyn said softly. She had always known when to stay, when to ease. “Speaking of, you owe me a drink. You bailed on our last one.”
Seraphine groaned, dramatically pressing a hand to her heart. “Evie, I was dying of exhaustion. You wouldn’t want to drink with a corpse.”
“Oh, please,” Evelyn teased. “You’d still make death look poetic. Probably paint about it too.”
That pulled a laugh from Seraphine—real, warm, grounding. “I might, actually.”
Aria’s head popped up from her corner, eyes wide. “Might what?”
Seraphine smiled. “Mommy might paint about someone being very clever today.”
“Someone like Evie?” Aria asked.
Evelyn laughed. “Excuse me? Clever? I’m not the subject of anyone’s inspiration!”
“Oh, come on,” Seraphine said, smirking. “We both know you’ve been spending suspiciously long at the shelter lately. Watching the new volunteer, right? Noah.”
Evelyn froze mid-bite, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Suspiciously long? That’s… professional. Totally professional.”
Aria gasped. “Evie’s blushing!”
“I am not!” Evelyn exclaimed. “I’m just—efficient. Observant. Concerned about shelter operations!”
Seraphine leaned closer, teasing. “Sure. Observant.”
Aria giggled. “Mom’s right! Evie likes him!”
Evelyn groaned, defeated but laughing. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell anyone. Especially not Sarah Finder. She’d stage a wedding.”
Seraphine nodded solemnly. “Your secret’s safe with us.”
Aria grinned. “I like secrets.”
Evelyn ruffled her hair. “This is why volunteering is safer than dating. Children are spies.”
“Especially this one,” Seraphine said softly, brushing Aria’s curls back.
“I spy because I love you guys!” Aria declared proudly.
The moment hung, warm and alive—the room filled with laughter, the rustle of paper, the sound of a small world still healing.
Evelyn glanced at the clock, sighing. “I should probably head out soon. The shelter’s chaos hour is about to begin.”
“Already?” Seraphine asked, tilting her head. “You just got here.”
“Trust me, I’d rather be here,” Evelyn said, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “But someone’s got to make sure the kids don’t turn the art room into a battlefield again.”
Aria gasped. “They fight with paint?”
Evelyn grinned. “Oh, you have no idea. I’ll bring pictures next time.”
“Promise?” Aria asked.
“Promise,” Evelyn said, pinky-swearing with her. Then she straightened, her tone softening. “You sure you’re okay?”
Seraphine nodded, brushing her palms on her apron. “Yeah. Just a rough start. But I’m good now.”
“Good.” Evelyn’s eyes lingered for a second—searching, maybe worried—but she let it go with a small smile. “I’ll text you later, alright?”
“Okay.”
Evelyn moved toward the door, pausing when Luna brushed against her ankle. “Bye, Your Majesty,” she murmured to the cat, earning a flick of the tail in response.
“Luna approves of you leaving,” Seraphine said, laughing softly.
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “She never liked competition.”
“Neither do you,” Seraphine teased.
Evelyn turned at the doorway, half-smiling. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall, leaving the faint echo of warmth behind her.
The studio felt quieter again, but not empty. Aria had curled up on the couch, coloring Luna’s tail blue in her drawing, and the afternoon sun spilled across the floorboards like gold.
Seraphine sat back at her canvas, fingers tracing the edge of a dried brushstroke. The faintest trace of vanilla still hung in the air—but this time, it didn’t drown her.
It simply lingered, soft and powerless.
She dipped her brush into color, and began again.
- Writer
