STARLIGHT UNBOUND by Deus Ex Machina - HTML preview

STARLIGHT UNBOUND

and hesitant.

This is what they ’ll never see. What they’ll never understand.

Her hand lingered there before drifting to the edge of the canvas—black paint from the night before still staining her fingertips. But it wasn’t the gallery or the critics that occupied her thoughts.

It was him.

Lucien.

She could still picture the way he’d stood in front of her painting—his posture tense, his gaze unrelenting. The way he looked at it, the way he looked at her. Most visitors gave her work a glance, a polite nod, then moved on. But he... he had felt it. She was certain of it. He didn ’t just see the painting. He let it in.

Why does that scare me?

Her hand clenched around the brush she was holding, splaying the bristles with her thumb. She had spent years perfecting the art of blending in. Wearing the mask, saying the right things, keeping the right distance. But Lucien’s presence had stirred something in her, loosened a thread she wasn’t ready to pull.

She set the brush down and leaned back, closing her eyes. He ’s another citizen. Another cog in the machine. So why does he feel like there’s more?

The studio was still, the outside world nothing but a faint hum beyond the thick walls. She stood by the window, staring at the distant glow of the central spire piercing through the hazy skyline. The AstroSYS-approved version of her was spotless, calculated. But here, in the dim light of her hidden world, she was whole, raw, herself.

A vibration from her pocket broke the moment. She pulled out her wrist device and stared at the notification: a follow-up request from the gallery for additional interviews, media appearances, further alignment. Lyra swiped it away with an irritated flick of her fingers, tossing the device onto the table.

Her mind drifted to the black disk she had slipped into Lucien ’s hand. She could still feel the warmth of his skin, the way his fingers had curled around it —hesitant, uncertain. Why did I do that? What if he doesn’t understand? What if he does?

A shiver ran through her as she turned back to the unfinished painting. She picked up the brush again, dipped it into the dark pigment, and pressed it against the canvas. The strokes came fast and jagged, forcing through the swirling patterns like cracks spreading through glass. For the first time in years, she didn ’t feel in control.

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