Book 6: She Can't Control It

Ryatt

Ella moves between the canvases in her studio, sunlight dusting over her bare shoulders. She tucks a strand of her lush, dark brown hair behind her ear, revealing her paint-smeared cheek. Tear stains shimmer in the sunlight drifting through the angular windows like little silver pieces of thread that trail down her jaw and neck.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, again and again. How many years has this been happening now? My nightmares bleeding into her own? I can’t stop it from happening. I’ve tried, trust me. I’ve taken every potion and tonic to put me into a complete stupor to stop my mind from drifting when I finally close my eyes, but that bond we share against our will ignites almost every night, tethering us together across realms.

I watch as she opens a can of black paint. She pulls a vial from her pocket that glistens in the sunlight–pale white with tinges of blue.

“Don’t, please–”

Too late. She empties the vial of her tears into