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She turned around after cursing her life out and froze. If a soul ever left a body without dying, it was in that moment that happened for Zara. For a moment she forgot how to breathe and her eyes widened in shock.
There, sitting in her livi...
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WHEN ZARA WOKE up a few hours after nearly drowning, she wasn't expecting Dele to be sitting at her desk chair, going through a sketchbook.
Her sketchbook.
It took her a few seconds to remember what had happened before she passed out. She remembered getting up briefly to change so the women won't have to change her. That would've been a disaster. And then she'd passed out.
The moment Nugget noticed she was up, he climbed on top of her and laid on the crook of her neck, almost as if seeking comfort. She ran a hand through his fur and sighed.
"Hey, you're up," Dele said once he noticed that she was awake. He picked up her sketchbook and moved towards the bed, sitting down beside her, pulling the covers over his folded knees, "Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere? You didn't hit your head, did you?"
Too many questions.
"I am okay. Just a little disoriented. Don't worry about it." She mumbled and dropped her head back on the pillow.
Dele raised the sketchbook, "I went through your sketchbook. It was on the table and I couldn't contain my curiosity. Do you mind?"
"Nah, it's no big deal."
"You used to paint so well." He complimented. And he wasn't exaggerating. If anything, he was not praising those paintings enough. She had painted many things, mainly human faces and hands, but there were also sceneries, animals and stones. And they all were breathtakingly beautiful. Saturated and harmonious.
"Thank you. But those aren't paintings. I used colour pencils." She admitted.
His eyes widened in shock, "Really?" He hadn't dared to touch the illustrations. He didn't wanna risk tainting such fine art with his bare fingers and hence had failed to notice the difference.
"Yup. I hate using paints. They always get so messy. I prefer pencils."
"Wow." He muttered, "You should get them framed or something. These are beautiful."
She snorted, "I regret not burning these sketchbooks. I was so close to burning them one time but I resisted. Mama used to love my drawings."
He stared at her in disbelief, "You shouldn't burn them! This is art at its finest."
She feebly shrugged her shoulders, Nug now resting on top of her chest, "Doesn't really matter anymore."
He shook his head, "I really wouldn't let you burn them. Even if it means I have to protect them."
She laughed, "You are being dramatic."
"Then so be it. Also." He flipped to her last creation. Her heart stopped when she saw the portrait. It was of a girl with long, ink-black hair, a tired smile pulling at her lips. Remorse was etched on every line of her pretty heart-shaped face as if she was doing something she really didn't want to but it was too late for her to back down. Her bloodshot eyes were filled with such raw sorrow but it was not enough for her to stop.
