Twisted Plot

CHAPTER 21

The sun filtered through the glass-paneled windows of Ramiel’s studio, bathing the room in a golden hush. The scent of paint and fresh paper lingered in the air. Brushes, half-dipped in color, sat abandoned as small hands traced careful lines across a canvas.

Aria stood at an easel far too big for her, tongue peeking from the side of her mouth as she painted with deliberate strokes—her own little world unfolding in hues of gold, indigo, and emerald.

Ramiel watched her quietly from the corner. Months had passed since he first met her months that felt both like a heartbeat and a lifetime. He still didn’t know how to explain the depth of what he felt when he looked at her: joy sharpened by sorrow, love lit with grief.

She was so much like her mother.

He hadn’t told her yet. Not everything. Not the full truth.

But he would. One day.

For now, she called him “Uncle Ram.” And he let her.

Because this—this quiet moment of color and laughter and healing—was sacred.

Behind them on a shelf sat Harmony’s letter, now folded neatly in a silver frame. He hadn’t told his family yet either. Not that Harmony was the donor. Not that Aria was their blood. He was still holding it close, letting it sink in.

He looked out the window.

Raindrops began to splatter against the glass, soft and rhythmic. Aria turned toward him, brush in hand.

“Uncle Ram,” she said, her voice curious and light, “can we paint the stars next?”

He smiled.

“Of course,” he replied. “You just tell me where they are.”

As they dipped their brushes into new colors, the world outside faded. Only the room remained—warm, alive, painted with possibility.

And somewhere in the silence, in the strokes of her little hand, was Harmony.

Watching.

Waiting.

Smiling.

*******

“Some souls never leave. 
They live on in laughter, in brushstrokes, 
in the space between one heartbeat and the next.”

— Twisted Plot

— *The End.*