Elu is my anchor 

Blessed to see color everywhere I go

His eyes have become my favorite sight 

Fresh snow against a frosting lake 

The barest of blue shining beneath all that white 

And I sink into the comfort it brings 

He brings me 

Peace 

Of mind and spirit 

I feel younger 

As he takes charge of me

Nestling me closer 

It’s almost too easy to slip into 

But just when he dares to come closer 

Something in me pulls back

My eyes catch him lingering on me too long

With such blankness that

I don’t sense 

attraction 

Stomach twisting as he’d reach too far down 

brushing against my sex 

No apology on his tongue 

At night I cry 

Why would I pull from him?

The one who holds me gently 

But my spirit stays uneasy 

The same spirit that kept me alive 

The same spirit that guided me through the years 

The same spirit that protected me

I can’t ignore it

So as he continues to touch me with kindness 

A part of me silently watches 

Waiting for someone else to harm me 

Spirit, please be wrong 

-

After two weeks

When I washed away the dirt and dust 

The sign of the space revealed this use to be an Artist’s Courtyard, 

more specifically for the lost art of Painting 

This was a real Painter’s Garden 

Painters slowly began to die out over the centuries. The loss of color in their sight was the loss of reasons to live. 

At first, they continued to paint as the population’s sight slowly lost colors. Fellow artist attempt to support them: musicians creating ballads, poets' made grand epics and anthologies, sculptors creating effigies to remember their legacy.

But one day the people could no longer distinguish the painters works.  

Their art were swatches of the ‘same’ colors

Blurred images and worthless crafts

The Painters

Their work

Their livelihoods 

Their gift

Became meaningless 

So they slowly died out 

From obscurity and heartbreak

Fallen from prestige 

Their ashen broken spirits dissolved back to the black and grey works of their predecessors. Imitating it perfectly, but never fully fitting in. Their works, as traditional as they were, alway left the viewer with the sense of abscene. Word has it that once an nomad sought guest rights in the home of Painter. Walking into the gallery chamber, it is said the nomad burst into tears, staying that way for three moon cycles. 

On the third night the Painter asked the nomad 'why are you filled with such woe?'

The teary nomad shook his head. 'My spirit crys out for gift that will never be appreiciated so. If you swatches of black and white could move my soul so deeply, I know your works of color would return me to Efehni.'

He left that very day, and as he walked he cried out to whoever would listen. 'Efehni has punished us! For our sins we pay! How much must we lose before we see the tragedy creted by our hands.'

Whether it was legend or truth, no one knows, but it caused a panic. Whispers of old prophecies resurfaced and for the first time, the tribes and packs refused to let the elders speaks. 

The allied council began to propagate the idea that they should’ve never used color in the first place. According to them: 

We as people are first born without the perception of color 

We grow and then develop the ability to see certain ones

By depending on color like weaker creatures

the Painters to spit on the image the gods created us in 

The Painters deserved there downfall

And from that point forward they were all together shunned

I remember when my nana told me this history I felt heartbroken. 

Why are people always being punished for the way they’re born?

Why should they be shamed for how Efehni created them?

Why does Efehni do nothing? Aren’t they still her children?

My restoration of this is space is my homage to them 

Maybe even a balm for me

To ignore the battles of each day, I throw myself into the garden; or rather I’m pulled by some incessant need to return to it. After every visit by Zubair, I make it a point to given an improvement to my new found space.

If I can’t save myself, at least this can be salvaged. Although, I must say that the more I restore it the more I begin to feel, not quite whole, but not so…empty. 

Maybe it’s because the space is actually filling me. 

I’ve recently discovered that some of the bricks are enchanted. I had been brushing the stones when I uncovered iridescent lines underneath the dirt and debris. My eyes started to bleed again as as it touched a memory held me...

A painter teaching her protegee the concept of cool versus warm tones; another showed me the difference between what they called the first colors, pink, blue and brown. The next, an explanation of why our people can’t see blue and yellow colors for what they are…

All the stones in the room were like that, spelled with memories and instructions for whoever that could see. I hastened my cleansing just to take notes like a mad person. 

Elu had seen me take several scrolls once, stopping me to see why I had so many…and I partially-lied. Making some excuse about improving my handwriting. Technically it would help me improve, and it truly wasn’t up to par, so he left me on my way. For now. 

I can sense his growing suspicion, but I know he doesn’t wish to scare me away. 

-

After two week of deep cleaning, I go back to the section for creating pigments for paint and chalk. The previous painter seemed to have left stones behind for the next successor, but I don’t want to waste goods as I learn. It takes me a week to scavenge the rocks that I think would be pretty or work for the recipes. Another two days to transport them to the garden. 

I toiled for a week to get the same consistency as the memory, but it was worth it.

After committing the mural to memory to lightly sanding it down, I slowly allow myself began to repaint the legacy left to me.

I got so caught up in my project I never noticed Elu trying to follow me

I never thought it was him 

Just a random pack mate being too nosy 

I was always careful to evade 

Or at least I thought

The Ef’eman had predicted the Light returning soon

I knew I’d be fine

I accidentally stayed here during daytime again 

This time I couldn’t go missing 

But my paints

My work 

My refuge

I had to coat the walls and store my colors away 

All day I sweated to preserve this sanctuary of mine

I feel at peace as I close the door behind me 

Walking down the hall to turn down the familiar path

Only to find Elu 

At the end

Staring at me 

Elu-

-Get over here, right now!-

My legs bolt to appease him

Elu is the only one who hasn’t scorned at me

Now he’s mad

Elu’s mad at me 

Elu will hurt me too

Elu will abandon me too

He grips my forearm with strength that’s frightening 

Dragging me through passages I didn’t know existed

In my room he locks all exits 

-Where have you been going?-

I-

My arm is lifted

Splatters of fruit and bark smear his hand 

-Are you going to the forests without permission? Hmm? Wandering off as your little revenge?-

I’m not scared with Zubair 

Nor Mehrdad 

I know what they are 

I dealt with their kind before

I know what to expect 

I don’t, however, know Elu.

He is calm.

He is quiet.

He was safe.

But I don’t feel safe

I-I 

His jaw ticks faster by the second 

-If you haven’t gotten by now, rule number one: 

Don’t give yourself away so freely. Now strip. I’ll get the bath ready.-