bronte snowspire | 10 | fin

chapter one:

she only remembered a clean slate and the sound of doors slamming. the amount of things that had random bits of debris and color on them had been her doing. everything was her canvas, or at least, that is what the strangers had claimed as she asked questions that she had no clue asking. she has had a hard time acclimating to a normal way of life, because she did not think the same like the rest of the kids that she did know.

she would have vivid nightmares, but she never remembered them well enough to convey them to anyone else. instead she would wake up screaming for a moment before someone would console her long enough to get her to go back to sleep.

when the morning time would roll around, bronte was always eager to explore and while she did have mild supervision, they never kept their eyes on her enough. sometimes she would reach for doorknobs and try to open doors to rooms that she had no business trying to open. they always caught her just fast enough to stop her from getting into too much mischief. they could tell that she was a curious soul, that they would have keep her on her feet to make sure that she attention was kept.

she never got along with the other children. the silent type. she had always preferred to be by herself, even if they were having them participate in activities together. bronte would always find somewhere else in the room to be. she was fussy, and creative, a combination that they did not anticipate.

chapter three:

the arts room had become her new home after the staff realized that she was not going to stop defacing the property of the entire building in one go. she did not understand the concept of respecting things that did not belong to her. well. at least when it came to the building. she never actively tried to ruin anything that belonged to the other children.

she was always the type of girl that had to be told things a couple times. mostly to create a small net of understanding that she could fall in, but also because she did not think similarly to others. when people saw rain, she did not see water hitting the ground. she saw the sky crying for some reason, whether it be happy or sad. her teachers never really understood how she could look at everything through a creative lense, but she did not ask them too. in fact, the way she thought always influenced her mood when she would find herself trying to create things on the canvas's she was shown in the art room. one of her teachers told her that it was acceptable for her to do whatever she wanted as long as she confined her creativity to this blank fabric.

it took her a while to commit to this, the amount of easels that had been riddled in paint and crayon had been littered throughout the room. however, she got the hang of it. eventually she could be found in the art room more than anywhere else. they had talked about talents with her, and they figured that she would excel as a painter. she wanted to be the one to make that choice, and she did, but a part of her always thought that it was forced upon her.

in class, she would always find time to doodle on the paper with little drawings that she had found relevant to the lesson she was learning. during math class, shed draw pictures of numbers eating each other for fun. professor chueng always said she never appreciated this, but bronte would always catch the smirk on her face as she confiscated the paper from her and gave her a fresh sheet to work off of. she was sure that she had a collection of her drawings at this point. she always told bronte that she wished the girl could focus her mind on the task at hand, and bronte could, but that didnt mean that she didnt get bored doing so.

her teachers never cornered her into being someone that she was not, but they did expect her to stay focused in her studies. bronte could keep up, but her mind had always wandered. it was just how it worked for her.

theyd learn to accept it just like bronte did.

chapter five:

they could go down the list of people that they got along with on one hand. there was respect given to them, and she knew that is why she could attribute such things. she would share the art room with erras from time to time, both of them being the creatives in the group. sometimes shed be in the corner painting something while erras had been clicking away at the sewing machine and bronte would finally see what would be missing from whatever she had been working on.

lovie had always been the one that bronte trusted enough to at least be honest with them. she had a unique way of seeing things, and while bronte saw outside the box, lovie saw inside of it. deep inside. so much so that their point of views were almost polar opposites. it just worked though, especially when lovie had begun to explain the importance of the inner machinations that made up the politics of the academy. at least, that is how bronte saw it. they never understood it and bronte didnt want too. sometimes the conversations would spur creativity that bronte didnt know that she had in her.

a conversation with lovie had always been a complex one, but one that she could respect.

joyce on the other hand, that was someone that bronte could look onward on from anywhere in the room. maybe it was the niche way that she saw the world, or the fact that the conversation had never seemed too complicated. bronte would never admit to joyce, but they always thought more of them because of how patient she was with them. sometimes, bronte would take a break from the art room to watch joyce practice in the auditorium, which was probably for the best because then it would give erras enough privacy to do what they needed to do.

listening to her sing had always been calming enough to bronte for her to focus just on the art. shed never tell joyce that they were her muse, because one, was not sure how she would react to such a proclamation, and two would not know what do with themself in that moment. so instead, she would continue to look onwards as she heard the music fill the auditorium. her brush would move along with the intricacies of her voice, however every time joyce would ask to see what bronte had made, theyd always ask them to wait.

she had always been just a little too nervous when it came to joyce.

the canvas was an intimate place to her after all.