Page 50 of House of Sin
I turned and smiled, letting the warmth reach my eyes. “Hey, darlin’,” I said, stepping toward her. “How’s the festival treating you?”
She gave a sheepish smile, her hands clasped in front of her. “It’s. . . actually a lot of fun, I’m really enjoying myself.” She said, her voice gaining more confidence as she spoke. “Though I haven’t had a chance to see all of the vendors or their booths yet. There’s so much to look at, it’s a little overwhelming.”
I chuckled. “Understandable. It’s easy to get lost in it all, but I’m glad you’re here.”
She glanced around, eyes wide with curiosity, clearly drawn to the colors and motion. “There’s just so much to take in.” She said in wonder.
I let my smile soften, shifting closer to her. “You’ll have time,” I said, glancing back at the booth I had arranged for her work. “And I have a little surprise for you.”
Her gaze followed mine as I nodded toward the booth, and I watched as her eyes widened. The sketches,hersketches, hung in a place of pride. The bold lines, the stark contrasts between light and shadow,the beauty of the women, it was her soul laid bare for everyone to see. For everyone tofeel.
Elona stood there frozen for a moment, realization sinking in. “Birdie, I. . .” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” I said. “Let them see. Let them witness the power of your work.” The tone of my words was gentle, like a nudge rather than a push. I wasn’t demanding, just offering a quiet certainty, a reassurance that she was ready. Elona had everything she needed to succeed, she just had to trust herself. And I would be right here to watch her take that step.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to touch one of the frames, her fingers grazing the charcoal lines as if she hadn’t seen them before, as if she was seeing them in a new light. The crowd was watching. The women, the men, they couldn’t help but admire.
“What do you think?” I asked her, my voice almost a whisper.
She didn’t answer right away, just stood there, taking it in. Her own work. Her own soul.
“I never thought this would happen.” She said, her voice caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief. “I’ve dreamed of this moment, but seeing it. . . it’s so different than I imagined.” She glanced back at me, her eyes wide and searching for reassurance, but I already knew what she was feeling. The spark was there, the one I had seen from the beginning. Every hesitant step, every quiet sketch, had led her to this point. She was ready now, and the world had no choice but to see her.
I placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just the beginning.” I said with a smile, my voice filled with pride.
By the time the sun dipped low, the booth was packed. Piece by piece, her art sold. Each transaction sent a rush of victory through me. The crowd couldn’t look away.
Maeve and Violet made their rounds through the square, drawing the usual stares and whispers while I stood tall beside Elona. We weren’t just part of the town anymore, we were rewriting it.
When the last piece sold, I pulled her gently aside. “See?” I chimed. “Told you they’d love it.”
She looked at me, trying to speak, but the words just wouldn't come.
“You’re finally letting them see you.” I explained. “The version you always kept hidden.”
Her smile was small, careful. “And they didn’t run,” she whispered.
“No, dear,” I said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “they stood in line.”
Somewhere behind us, Maeve barked a laugh. Violet’s soft snort followed. I glanced over my shoulder to see the two of them approaching from the food carts, Maeve licking powdered sugar from her fingers, Violet clutching a paper bag of fried dough. Maeve caught me watching and lifted a sugared finger in a salute.
“Did she cry yet?” Maeve called out.
“Not yet,” I answered, glancing at Elona with a knowing smirk, “but I give it five minutes.”
Violet beamed. “You were stunning, Elona. Each piece hit like a gut punch.”
Elona’s cheeks turned a soft pink color that she hated; she always insisted she didn’t blush, even though she did. Constantly.
“You’re all insufferable,” she muttered, though her smile betrayed her.
As the festival wound down, the booths emptied, and by the time the last vendor closed shop, the square had quieted to a hush, its energy spent.
I was zipping up the last crate—every drawing sold, not a sketch left—when Maeve sauntered over. “D’you want the interesting bit first, or the strange one?"
“That depends,” I said, wiping the dust from my hands on my coat. “Are you drunk?”
She smirked. “Fair question, but no.”
