Sketch Chapter 2 の小説・ストーリー

I added the photograph to the end of the file. Labeled it: Unconfirmed chapter. Possibly imagined. Possibly true. But worth writing either way.

Thanks Drop your thoughts on this chapter. Will write more soon ❤️

“I’m practicing peace. It’s harder than the manuals suggest.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “There are no manuals for this part.” “There should be. Chapter one: what to do when the war ends and you still wake up listening for alarms. Chapter two: how to want things that cannot be taken by residual architecture or quiet men with old research.” He brushed his thumbs across my cheekbones. “Then we write those chapters ourselves. Starting with the second one. Tell me something you want.”

Chloe's POV The loft was too quiet. Marcus was on the phone in the other room, his voice a low, urgent murmur that vibrated through the floorboards. Barnaby was whining at the door, his ears flat against his head, his tail tucked between his legs. He could smell the fear in the apartment. Dogs always could. Chloe sat at the cutting table, her new sketchbook open in front of her, her pencils laid out in their precise order. The colors were arranged from light to dark, just like Léo had shown her when he explained how shadows worked on buildings.

She has a separate sketchbook for me and for others to draw. I opened the first page, and there I was, sketched in remarkable detail. Each drawing captured a different moment—a smile, a laugh, a thoughtful look. I could see the care and love she had poured into every stroke of her pencil. As I flipped through the pages, my heart ached with a mix of love and regret.

Instead of a picture of a bird or a waterfall, a picture of me wearing just a bra and seated on the countertop at the beach house is what I find. He got everything right. Every little detail on my body that even I would have missed is drawn onto this paper. From the freckles shattered all over my body to the little birthmark on my thighs. Everything is here. I flip to the next. This one doesn't show my face. But I know it's me from the tattoo on my hip. Every page in this sketchbook contains a drawing of me naked. Dropping the sketchbook in my hand onto the bed, I take out another one from the drawer and flip to the first page. It's me on my knees with my hands behind my back and my mouth wi

Instead, she just smiles and nods at him as he walks out the door. Picking up the book, she opens it and looks at her profile sketch of Harken, admiring how well her first sketch turned out, owing most of it to Harken and how perfect an art subject he is. Taking out her pencils again, she goes for her second attempt, this time trying a profile sketch of Kyle instead, giving herself a challenge from her last sketch with the contrasting features between Kyle and Harken.

It’s all there, every last detail of me—like looking in a mirror, except more flattering somehow. When did Waverly look at me so closely? When did she stare long enough to draw this? And did she like what she saw? Guilt twists my gut, but I’m in too deep to stop now. Screw my eternal soul; screw the last shreds of my restraint. Tossing a glance at the bathroom door, I flip back to the very first page of the sketchbook and start working my way through. There’s the bar from outside, set against the forest and mountains.

The figure stands in the shadows for a few minutes then takes a very audible and deep breath before walking around towards the bed by the bedside table and sets a pouch down < seems like your father was here visiting you again hmm, the poor sap being all hopeful not know he shall soon follow your fate, now then time is of the essence shall we get to it > The creature began taking bottles from the pouch and placing them on the table while mumbling to itself then a red piece of chalk is taken out and it began drawing the circle in the same area Skaii has made his circle earlier, so far so good. After the circle is drawn and the bottles are opened and placed on different symbols within it the c

I drop back into the chair, flipping the cover back to reveal the first page. My breath catches in my throat. Delicate lines trace the profile of a face, dark hair cascading down over bare shoulders. I’d recognize that face anywhere. I see it in the mirror every day. I flip the page. The next sketch is close-up of my face, a wide smile stretching my lips, eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s intricate and detailed, the shading so exquisite that it’s reminiscent of a black and white photograph. It looks like I’m laughing, blissfully happy.