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Chapter One ✷ PLATINUM IS NOT A DIFFERENT YELLOW
Beams of the setting sun filter through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the cluttered room. The window is cracked open, allowing the sounds of the busy New York streets to serve as background noise while he works. The warm breath of summer seep into his room, carrying in the sweet scent of the magnolia tree that stood in front of his window, the ivory blossoms gently swaying in the wind. It reminded Roman of the time he was young, sitting beneath a magnolia tree at Central Park, seeking refuge from the intense heat and a sanctuary for his weathered soul. People were walking around, children were playing with glee, all basking under the solar radiance. They looked like moving color blocks from where he sat on the bench. Far away, isolated.
New York felt terrible in the summer back then. It was unpleasant in general, with smoke tendrils and noisy creatures around every corner that irritated him. It felt wrong, not like home. Home was in Idris, in that hidden land. Home was at that manor that he can barely remember, the walls painted a gentle gold with orange and peace roses covering its walls. It looked so beautiful under the sun's aureate glow. The New York Institute in its ancient gothic glory felt so foreign, like a confinement for him. With too many eyes glaring at him, filled with anger. Roman supposed it would be worse in Idris. But New York was so big, so unfamiliar and he was so young. By the Angel, it hurt so much.
He felt suffocated, unable to escape this storm he inadvertently created. His emotions ebbed and flowed like the tides, leaving him submerged in the dark inky waters, the cold water grazing his lungs raw. That sinking feeling of emptiness held him down, leaving him alone and battered. Things were a bit better now, the waters weren't as freezing or turbulent like when he was 12 but still, Roman tried not to think about that time, knowing that those wounds still remained fresh. The skin only barely stitching itself back together.
The smell of turpentine and smoke clung to the room as Roman worked silently. Dipping his brush into the vibrant collection of paints, his mind swirled with images as he tried to depict the array of emotions onto the canvas. She was a recent addition to his hauntings. Roman didn't know who she was or where she came from but every time his head touched his pillow, visions of her would infiltrate his mind. Her features were elusive, it was always this animated blend but he could figure out something from the glimpses he got. He blended hues of jade and moss to portray the color of her eyes, reminiscent of summer leaves. Green was one of his favorite colors, but recently, it filled him with unease.
