Book 6: What I Want

Ella

I haven’t had the nerve to paint. It’s been months, honestly. Even after the war, I locked myself in my studio in Crescent Falls and just stared at all of my paintings, several of them unfinished, unable to pick up a paint brush.

But something changed this week. I threw everything into training with Westfall. He helped me hone my powers to a fine edge until I could ignite a single candle with a flick of my fingertip. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? But a week ago I tried it for the first time and ignited the entire room, nearly killing us both. It’s incredible progress, and with the physical training included, I’m beginning to feel more like myself again.

I brush my fingertips over my jeans, smearing paint. I don’t care. I don’t care that I have paint on my face or the cuffs of my sweatshirt, either. I’m painting, and that’s the greatest progress that’s been made at all.

I had to find some way to pass the time and stop my mind from spinning