Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
I wanted Elena.
And I was going to claim her.
3
ELENA
Jareth’s studio sat tucked above a row of quiet storefronts in the historic Marietta Square area, about forty minutes from my apartment. I climbed the narrow stairs and let myself in with the spare key he’d given me months ago, the familiar hush settling around me the moment the door closed.
It was all clean lines, white walls, and carefully curated light. The complete opposite of Hellbound Studio.
This space made sense to me. It always had. The rules were clear, and so were my mentor’s expectations. Whatever newness working with Onyx had stirred up in me, this was still my baseline.
I’d been apprenticing with him for a couple of days now. Just long enough to start finding my footing and realize how much adjusting it required. My attraction to him was a big part of the learning curve because he was on my mind too much.
I pushed the thought aside, annoyed with myself. This wasn’t the place for distractions.
Jareth emerged from the back room moments later, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He smiled when he saw me. “Elena.”
Whatever else was changing, this part of my world still felt solid. “Hey, Jareth.”
“Ready to put that eagle eye of yours to work?”
I’d never thought of the way my mind worked as anything unusual. It was just how things appeared to me.
I didn’t only remember what I saw. It felt like structure rose beneath the surface of an image the moment my eyes touched it, lines arranging themselves into hierarchies without effort. Repetition stood out, and so did deviation. My brain cataloged both instinctively, noting where something followed a pattern and where it broke away from it.
Missing details felt unresolved, like a sentence cut off mid-thought. They gave me a quiet insistence that something belonged there. When I filled in those spaces, the relief was immediate, like snapping a puzzle piece into place after holding it just above the board. Everything made sense again.
There was a physical component to it, too. A faint pressure behind my eyes when a pattern was incomplete, sometimes paired with a low, persistent itch I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t painful, just distracting. The kind of sensation that demanded attention but gave me a sense of relief once resolved.
I’d assumed everyone experienced images this way to some degree, that the difference between us was only clarity. Some people saw the whole picture at once. I saw how it was built.
It was simply the lens through which I understood the world. One that had helped me earn my spot in the art program Jareth helped oversee.
I returned his smile. “Looking forward to it.”
I set my bag down near the long worktable and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping to a blank page out of habit more than intent. Jareth placed an enlarged photo on an easel, and I pulled out a pencil. I started drawing without thinking, using light guidelines first, then firmer lines as the structure resolved beneath my fingers.
Jareth didn’t interrupt. He moved quietly around the space, the soft sound of his shoes crossing the floor the only indication he was there at all. I was aware of him watching, but it didn’t distract me.
“You were already quite skilled when we met, but you’ve improved even more than I expected during your time in the program.”
I glanced up briefly, then back down. “Thank you.”
He leaned closer, studying the page. “Most artists chase the image. You understand the structure first. That’s rare, Elena. It’s why I offered to mentor you.”
When I applied to the art program, I had thought it was a long shot to just get accepted. When Jareth reached out halfway through my first year to let me know that he wanted to work with me, I was stunned. Although he was known for offering critique and advice to other students, it was unusual for him to coach someone more closely. He was known for offering critique rather than a mentorship. Being chosen had felt like an honor, especially since he had no experience with tattooing, and it was the direction my art had taken.
“I’d like you to do some advanced exercises today. Nothing flashy, just precision work.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “You’ll work from partial references to help further train your eye to resolve what isn’t fully there.”
That sounded challenging, while still being aligned with what I’d already been doing instinctively.
“You can handle it,” he added.
Jareth had never steered me wrong before. So when he handed me the next reference and asked me to begin, I didn’t hesitate.
But for some reason, the exercise reminded me of the first time Jareth brought an employee of his to the studio for me to tattoo. It had been six months into my mentorship with him, and he’d framed it as an opportunity to translate my drawings onto the skin of someone willing to let me learn on them.