There, in front of him, was the dog he had just drawn an hour earlier. It opened its tiny mouth to bark, but no sound came out. It wiggled its tail and approached slowly, shy and yearning for attention. Sam sat down, hard, on the floor, extending his hand toward his drawing that had mysteriously come to life.

Suddenly, an idea popped in his head. “I can make drawings come alive… I can… Oh dear, it comes alive! I can revive her!” he took the dog in his arms, twirling it around, singing and laughing and dancing like crazy.

The dog seemed as excited as he was, wiggling its tiny tail, licking his cheeks and trying to bark and whimper without success. Sam didn’t notice, so caught up was he in his joy, that not a sound escaped from the animal…

He took a deep breath, put the dog on his desk next to his block, and took back the pencil. This piece would take much longer but he wouldn’t sleep until it was finished. It would be his masterpiece, and he would pour all his love in it.

The sun was setting when Sam started drawing, all from memory, the angel-like face and the sweet smile of his love. Her perfect body slowly appeared, with graceful limbs, her long dark hair covering her womanly curves, her cheeks covered in lovely freckles. He knew her by heart.

All night long, without a moment’s rest of a drop of water, Sam drew his beloved Alma, erasing and recreating, tirelessly. As the first rays of the sun illuminated his face, warming him like the caress of the woman that slowly rose from the paper in front of him, Sam started to cry.

He had done it! She was real! As beautiful as he remembered, with her heart-warming smile and tender eyes, her delicate hands that rose to touch his face in a soft but cold caress. He took her in his arms, thanking the stars for this miracle. But as he held her close he noticed that something was missing.

She was perfect, his love, but she was just a pencil stroke on a piece of paper. She had no heart that beat, no soul, no voice, no warmth of her own. Sam, with tears in his eyes, covered her cold skin with a blanket and led her to their bed.

His heart close to bursting with conflicting emotions, he held her close, relishing the embrace but missing her delicate scent… She smelled of old books, not of flowers, and this made him realise the terrible mistake he had made.

Sam had wanted his love to come back to him, but all he had done was create a paper doll. The woman he had known would never live again, and no magic could bring her back. Oh, he could enjoy his creation, for sure, but she wasn’t Alma.

This time, Sam let the tears fall freely from his eyes, holding the paper girl close to his heart, losing himself in the pain and the softness of her hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so, terribly sorry… You are not her, you’ll never be. I need to make this right.”

After a while, the tears stopped and they both got out of bed. Hand in hand, they returned to the drawing desk where the pencil was waiting to be picked up again. Sam could feel it calling to him, but he didn’t let it win this time. He had a wrong to right.

With a nod from the paper girl, he took the pencil in his hands and broke it. It would never work its magic again. Then, Sam took her hand, kissed her cheek, and both advanced towards the desk, towards the paper.

In a single motion, they both put their feet on the paper and moved on, growing smaller by the minute, heading for the unknown lands of fantasy that were awaiting on the other side of a drawing.