Painting It Red (The Oracle Series - Book One)

Chapter 1: Crimson Dreams

-Nora-

    For most people, dreams are an escape from reality-- maybe even a window into the subconscious mind. Mine have never been normal, and this one is no exception. I look to my right and smile to myself at the little girl on the bench next to me. Her long blonde braid hangs over her shoulder, barely brushing against the little pink nose of the snow white rabbit that is curled up peacefully in her arms. She sings softly to him as she strokes his ears, pushing them back along his furry torso. Her melodic voice is barely above a whisper, but I can tell there is something special lurking within the notes.

    Before I can read any deeper into the unfolding scene, it fades into a deep billowing cloud of red pigment. It swirls through the town, enveloping the street, the bench, and finally even the little girl with her rabbit. As she fades into a cloud of red dust, my eyes zone in on hers, and catch a tiny fleck of yellow-gold. The spot glimmers in the middle of her swirling baby blues--Just to the side of the pupil in her right eye.

    Just like mine.

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    I wake up with a start, and stumble over to the mirror next to my work station. My already pale face is a stark white, shocked by the discovery of a young stranger who shares my unusual birth mark. My head is swimming, and though I was sleeping just moments ago, a jolt of adrenaline pushes me into gear.

    That mark in her eye. It was nearly identical...

    Inching my face closer to the glass, I inspect my own eyes. The emerald irises may not be the same as her blue ones, but the golden fleck remains.

    Not only that, but the placement is exact. Uncanny. Not even a millimeter off from the placement of the mark in the mirror looking back at me.

    Shutting my eyes tightly, I think back to the dream. The swirling sands only ever mean one thing. This dream wasn't some work of fiction, and I can only assume that this girl is out there somewhere with a voice like smooth honey, and eyes like mine.

Unwrapping a pristine white canvas from my stash--reserved for times like this--I run my fingers along its smooth cloth surface and discard the plastic wrapping. Closing my eyes once more, the young girl's face fades into focus. Usually I take the time to stretch my own canvas, but I can't risk the delay it would cause. This one is important, I can feel it. I have to paint before I forget her dainty features.

    Who are you?

    She looked so young in my brief vision, no older than 10 years old. And that mark we share just can't be a coincidence.

    Maybe it means something.

    Maybe she has more answers than I do.

    I can't help but feel connected to her. My intuition tells me we are linked, and I wish I knew why. Pulling out some raw pigments to work with, I begin mixing my paints and prepping the canvas. Cerulean blue, of course, for the eyes, gold, peach, honeyed yellows, and a deep crimson red. I grab my brushes, and mentally trace the lines of her face. As I begin to commit her memory to canvas, I can't help but wonder where this new puzzle piece fits into my own life.

    I have been trying to decipher the mystery of my past for a long time now. I can barely remember my biological family, and what is left of them only comes to me through my dreams. My dreams are the only constant that I have carried with me throughout my life. For as long as I can remember, I have seen glimpses of the world through clouds of dusty pigment. They flow like sands through an hourglass, filling me up and presenting me with whatever visions they see fit.