El Arte De Ser Nosotros Novels & Stories

"You're learning. But there's one more thing you need to know." "What?" "The administrators can do something similar. They can't rewrite reality like you can, but they can manipulate it within their domains. They'll try to trap you. Lock you in loops. Make you question what's real." He stepped closer. "The only way to fight that is to trust yourself. Trust your power. If something feels wrong, it probably is. And if you're ever unsure, erase everything and start over." "That seems extreme." "Extreme keeps you alive. Remember that."

"And now? Do the coordinates still matter?" Elias walked over and sat beside her on the bench, his hand finding hers in the shadows. He didn't just hold it; he laced his fingers through hers, a firm and permanent connection. "Now I realize that home isn't something you build with a blueprint or a construction crew. It’s what happens when you finally stop hiding the cracks in your own foundation. It’s being seen, Clara. Truly seen—with all my failures, my cowardice, and my obsession with straight lines. You’re the only person who ever looked past the architect and saw the man."

I stand tall in front of the easel. "I think if I'm the subject, I should have a right to know, shouldn't I" He folds his arms. I swallow. "No. My art is not for viewing." I stand firm. He nods. "So, you've said. But technically, I already know what I look like, so you might as well show me." "No." I cross my arms. "I could command you to show me." He smirks. "Please don't." I whine.

Damien watched my reaction closely, gauging every flicker of curiosity and fear. “This is where I indulge what society forbids,” he confessed, pulling me into a sunlit studio overlooking the water. “But with you, Elena, it’s different. Your art awakened something in me. A need to possess not just beauty, but the soul that creates it.” He drew me to a new block of clay waiting on a pedestal, his body pressing against my back. “Create while I touch you. Show me your desires made real.”

The banks stepped in to handle the liquidation. At that time, I was traveling abroad with Mom. We didn't know the language of that country, so we learned it slowly—starting with single words, then gradually becoming fluent enough to chat with ease. A few years later, we returned home and leisurely opened a small studio together. It was a handicraft workshop—work that didn't require much brainpower. The two of us could take our time, doing crafts, chatting, and enjoying life. There weren't many orders. We worked occasionally, whenever we felt like it.

The sun was setting, painting the room in warm gold and soft shadows. Nora stood before a canvas, brush poised but unmoving. “You’re not painting,” Jaden said quietly. “I am,” she replied, though her hand trembled slightly. “You’ve been staring at that same spot for ten minutes.” She sighed and lowered the brush. “I don’t know what I’m afraid of more. I'm messing it up… or getting it right.” Jaden stepped closer, careful, slow. “Art’s not about perfection, Nora. It’s about truth.”

"Selly, a merman's scale is one of the rarest spirit tools in this world. In my last life, I dared not easily show my form, for fear others would want to tear my scales off me. But today, I swear upon this scale that I'll protect you for the rest of my life. All I ask… is that you turn back and look at me once more." Zirion's voice was heavy with grief. It was almost like a cry of lament. Selene felt her heart soften at that. Had this been her past self, she might have agreed at once. But in this life, she couldn't do the same. She could no longer trust Zirion to have her back. She had to think about every word he spoke in her mind countless times. She couldn't help but wonder if there was s

Not only that, you're just jealous and can't take it when someone else's outstanding. I nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I should be a saint and forgive my boyfriend for pursuing his artistic awakening instead of spending time with me on my birthday. Is that right?" "Exactly! You'll still have your birthday next year, but this was Bianca's only time to capture her prime youth. Once it's gone, it's gone. I was just helping a friend chase her dreams. What's wrong with that?" "You're absolutely right," I said approvingly. "If that's how much you love art, then go for it. We're done."

"That's exactly like me. That's exactly like all of us. We see problems and we figure out how to solve them with love." "Will you teach me?" "Sweetheart, you've been learning since the day you were born. Now you're ready to start teaching others." "Teaching what?" "The art of living. The art of choosing love over fear, healing over hurt, hope over despair. The art of building families out of broken people and making something beautiful from something terrible." "Is that what we do? Practice the art of living?" "That's exactly what we do. And you're going to be a master at it."

" Ring any bells? Fine, yer not great at household shit. Who cares? Yer good in so many other actually important ways-" "-But-" "Hold up, not done. Yer good at makin' the right call, thinkin' rationally and responsibly, hell, you work yer ASS off eight days a week sometimes for extra money to do stuff for me. It's ok to not be good at everything! I had a thought a while back. 'We're all good and bad at something. Isn't that why we have people we love? To make up for the abilities and attributes that we lack individually?'