Chapter 3
"Good," Sera hummed.
"Already over the first major hurdle when painting a new world: believing what you believe to be true."
What do you mean?
Sera rolled her eyes at her sister as she threw her a cocky smile.
"Exactly what it sounds like: you cannot create anything if you don't believe in it yourself —that sort of thinking only produces hollow imitations," her sister said with a twinge of bitterness lingering in her voice.
"You can't force yourself to believe something, it has to come naturally.
And, for some people, that just isn't possible...
And so," she said, gesturing to the blank world around them.
"They fall...
forever...
unable to get themselves out of the very position they put themselves in."
Oh...
"Why don't you repaint yourself?"
Huh?
"Your throat?
I can understand you fine, especially here, but I assumed that would be the first thing you would want to change.
Elara nodded and quickly struck a pose, waved her arm and...
nothing.
What?
Why isn't it—"Remember your voice Elara."
The younger sister shot her an irritated glance.
Standing back, breathing deeply, she tried again...
only to be met with the same result.
Ugh, why is this so hard?
"Essence versus simulacrum, sister.
Don't focus on what your voice sounds like, focus on what your voice is."
Another annoyed glare.
"Oh, come on, don't give me that.
You're trying too hard to bring the details into being.
You're forgetting that things aren't just the sum of their parts."
With the initial frustration subsided and now turning to embarrassment, Elara crouched down in a corner (or at least the closest thing to a corner that the endless white void around them could have) and buried her head in her hands.
Why was this so hard?
Why couldn't she do it?
It all felt so easy in Lucien's canvas.
It was the stupid blank canvas.
The endless whiteness of it all, the complete lack that surrounded her on all sides.
It all threw her off, made her dizzy, suffocated her, and left her with nothing to hold on to, nothing—
A hand on her shoulder interrupted the rapidly spiralling thoughts.
Sera knelt down once again, this time with a much softer look, one of understanding.
"It gets easier the more you do it.
Come on now," she directed, gently guiding Elara back to her feet.
"I know you can do it, even if it takes a while.
Just forget about trying to do it and just think about what voice you hear in your head."
She closed her eyes and found herself as a child again, running up and down the grounds that surrounded their home.
She heard the laughter she would belt out as she scurried up a tree while Papa watched, chuckling below.
She heard the pleading whine she would make when she wanted Lucien to play her another song on his piano.
She heard the wretched sobs that crawled out of her throat when she saw Emile die right in front of her.
Her eyes drifted open as a flutter of air rose around her, flower petals drifting in the newly formed breeze.
Her hand rose to touch her face only to find the usual coarse web of scars gone, her vision now brighter and wider.
She opened her mouth and found a lighter, undistorted noise passing through her lips.
"I can do it," Talia said.
"Ah, good, I was worried we were going to spend the entirety of our session getting that sorted," Sera chuckled.
"Now, last thing I want from you today: paint us somewhere to sit."
"What...
like...
?" Talia began, studying the area around them.
"Anything you can manage, I don't want to leave here today with nothing in the canvas."
Talia's mind wandered, looking for not just the first thing she thought of but the first feeling, the first sensation that tickled her as she thrust her mind into the creative abyss.
She felt vacant, a need to fill the emptiness with something, anything.
She saw her orange chair with the circular back that sat in front of her typewriter in her room.
She felt it calling out to her, to sit down and feel her hands glide over the keys.
Then, after a flick of her wrist, two of them sat in the emptiness in front of them.
"Ah, finally," Sera sighed, delicately sliding into the chair in one fluid motion.
"Glad you went with something familiar and comfortable.
I was half worried there you were going to make some perfectly square, rickety wooden thing you'd see in an encyclopaedia.
"Oh, come on, I'm not that unoriginal!"
A short chuckle came from Sera as she leaned back and crossed her legs, her gaze drifting off to somewhere in the void.
"Alright, well, we have about ten more minutes left."
"What do you want to do?" Talia asked, excitement hiding behind her smile.
"Nothing," Sera responded, leaning back and inhaling.
"What?" Talia asked, uncertain if this was another metaphorical test.
"You heard me, that was all for today.
Let's just sit back and take in what we have made today."
Talia's mouth fell open in disbelief, her own restlessness overtaking her ability to form words.
"That's all?
Come on!
We barely made anything!"
"No, Elara, we made some things and now we are going to sit quietly and reflect on them."
"Ugh," Talia scoffed, "reflect on what?
A pair of chairs and my throat?"
"Yes, exactly," Sera replied, opening one eye to look at her sister.
Talia rocked back and forth in her chair, unable to feel any sense of accomplishment with the meagre tasks that she had completed in the past ten minutes.
"It just doesn't feel like anything!""Elara—"
"I should have done those things like they were nothing!""Elara!
Don't be a child!" Sera scolded.
"They weren't nothing, you're sitting on them right now, if they were nothing you'd be flat on your arse right now."
Talia folded her arms together and huffed, turning away from Sera as she lurched backward into the chair.
Sera rested peacefully with her eyes closed, arms folded at her centre as she breathed softly.
Talia thought the silence was maddening.
Just before she really lost it, a mischievous idea worked its way into her head.