*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 ...