This chapter was proofread by axthetic_tzeddy from the Rose-Gold_Community

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Many years ago, Winnie's mother used to be beautiful.

She had long, wavy brown hair and huge green eyes.

So beautiful she was, that people gasped when she walked down the streets. She had many admirers.

Now she was sick. And old. And Winnie tried to take care of her as much as she could.

In a small apartment, on top of an Art Gallery where Winnie's father worked, her mother laid on the bed wrapped in different blankets to keep her warm.

Winnie carried a bowl of freshly made noodles upstairs to her mother.

When she came in, her mother was staring at the ceiling. The television was on. Some kind of documentary playing on the TV.

Winnie looked nothing like her mother. She had her father's icy blue eyes, and dark black hair- which she cut short below her ears and added on fringes to, covering her forehead.

Winnie cleared her throat. "Mom, have this."

Her mother looked at her blankly. Winnie set the bowl of noodles on the nightstand and helped her sit up. Then she placed the bowl on her lap.

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched her mother eat.

"You didn't go school today?" Her mother asked Winnie as she ate.

Winnie shook her head. She hadn't gone to school for three days in a row now, but her mother didn't need to know.

Yesterday when her mother asked, she said it was Sunday so she didn't had school.

Her mother didn't question her. Even though Winnie said the same thing to her the day before.

Winnie was worried that if she went to school her mother would go mad.

Her dad was busy downstairs, working most of the time. Her mother was alone up here.

The doctor had said that if her mother spent much time alone, she could get a severe memory illness.

Winnie feared her mother already was having the symptoms of it.

Hence she was also testing her mother.

Testing her if she remembers that she made the same excuse many times now for not going to school. And every time, her mother seemed to believe her.

Which was not a good sign.

Winnie sighed, "Do you want to go to the park for a walk after you finish eating?"

Her mother shook her head no without looking up from her food as she slurped her noodle.

Winnie didn't force her. She wondered how long she could go on without attending school.

It wouldn't really matter. School wasn't even important. In the world at this point now, anything was possible. School was just an optional thing people only went for fun. Rarely there was anyone who actually wanted to study at school.

There were study centres. Instead of sitting the whole day at school attending classes you weren't even interested in, you could simply get a Winther Bus ticket and go to any study centre you liked where you could learn what you wanted to.

Winnie patiently waited for her mother to finish. Then she took the empty bowl from her and went downstairs in the kitchen.

As she started to do the dishes, her father called her from his studio.

When she exited the kitchen, she found her father sitting on a stool, painting on a canvas stand.

Sunlight poured in through the glass windows and door.

Winnie could see the street outside, two boys were cycling and a lady walking her dog. How she longed to go outside...
She would run away and explore every corner of the world.

"Yes?" She asked her dad turning away from the outside world.

He was wearing a thin material, white shirt, stained with paint and his shorts. He had very few wrinkles. Black hair like hers, and the same ice blue eyes....

The studio room was filled with paintings all over the walls for sale.
They were beautiful, yes. But Winnie always felt like they lacked the magic the paintings had in the Earlier Centuries.

"Ah, yes, Winnie!" He looked up at her for a second before going back to his painting.

"Go run an errand, dear," he pointed the back of his paintbrush at his high desk, where people usually paid.

There was a wrapped up bag on the table. Obviously for a customer. There was a nametag and address attached.

"Deliver it for me, will you?" Her dad asked. "I would do it myself, but I have to finish this painting."

"Yeah, okay."

Winnie placed the bag gently in the basket at the back of her electro cycle and read the address from the nametag.

Then she turned to the GPS stuck into her electro cycle and read out the address to it.

Now she just simply had to sit and put her legs on the pedal, even though the cycle was automatic.

In a few seconds the cycle started it's journey.

Winnie had to turn the speed down by tapping something on the screen pad.

Now she wasn't going too fast, or too slow.

***

Ten minutes later, she had reached what looked something very similar to her own house.

Apparently, the downstairs portion of this building was a tiny restaurant and the upper half was an apartment.

Winnie got off her cycle and took out the package from the basket.

She just about to enter the shop when she saw a boy her age through the glass door. She couldn't see his face because of the open sign on the door but it was painfully obvious that he was a young guy.

She checked herself in the reflection in the glass windows quickly. She was very self conscious of herself near boys. Her voice sometimes went too high pitched.

She was wearing a black, high neck, full sleeved dress that ended on her knees, and white sneakers.

She wasn't really wearing any makeup except some light grey eyeshadow. She thought she looked like a zombie.

Its okay, she thought. I'll just quickly keep this on the counter and inform the person and leave. It will take barely a minute.

So she raised her chin high, and opened the glass door.

As she stepped inside, she looked around.

There wasn't any costumer sitting and it was kind of dark.

The only light source was the bright orange sun set lighting from the glass windows.

The guy she had seen from outside was leaning on one of the tables and looked like as if he was filling some sort of a form.

He was wearing a brown leather jacket and dark blue jeans.

There wasn't anyone on the counter so Winnie couldn't simply leave the painting and go.

"Um, excuse me." Winnie flinched internally as her 'me' sounded too high.

The guy turned around and looked at her as if he just noticed her.

As if he didn't even hear the creak of the door and the steps of someone coming in.

He had hair a shade too dark to be called light brown, but a shade too light to be dark brown.

Winnie struggled. The bag was heavy.

She almost started when she saw his face.

His dark grey eyes were questioning as they fell upon her.

He raised an eyebrow as if asking why is she bothering him- not helping with her anxiety at the moment.

Winnie cleared her throat.

"I, uh, brought a painting which...," Winnie quickly checked the nametag, "Mr. Westerfeld ordered...?"

The boy nodded and pointed at the counter, "Keep it over there." He said; his voice somehow both gruff and soft.

The kind of raspy voice you would get when you woke up from a deep, dreamless sleep.

Winnie again felt some sort of a jolt go through her, at hearing his voice.

She scolded herself, telling her to control her hormones.

She did as asked and placed the bag on the counter where the boy had pointed to.

This was the bar area.

There were high red stools here and all types of drinks and mixers, and a cash register at the side of the marble countertop.

"I need the payment- " Winnie had just begun speaking awkwardly when a man her father's age entered through the backside, from behind the counter.

Winnie immediately relaxed. She was good with speaking to adults.

The man was very tall and had a lot of muscles and built up.

He had the same eyes as the boy but dark brown hair instead.

He looked like a happy go lucky guy except there was a certain tension on his face as he smiled.

"Oh hi there!" He had a booming, jolly voice. "Are you Elian's friend?"

Elian stared at his, Winnie assumed, father, as if he lost his mind. As if to say, "As if I'd have 'friends' !"

Winnie smiled slightly.
"No, sir. I have brought a painting order for Mr. Westerfeld."

The man raised his eyebrows and his mouth formed an 'O'.

"Yes, that's me!" He then spotted the bag on the table.

He opened his cash register.
"How much will the painting be?" He asked.

"Twenty dollars for the painting and five dollars for the delivery." Winnie replied automatically.

"I don't have enough changes in here," the man muttered as he went through the register. "I'll bring it from upstairs after I open the painting."

Winnie nodded.

"What is your name?" He asked as he took the bag and started to open it.

"I am Edwina, but please call me Winnie."

"Hmm," Westerfeld looked like he was pondering on her name. "Do you have Welsh origin?"

At that Winnie laughed. She felt the boy look at her from the corner of her eyes as she did and tried not be nervous.

"Yes," she nodded, "My mother and father both have Welsh origins."

The man nodded with a smile like he figured.

He finally got the wrap out of the painting.

Even though no one was speaking, it felt as if it had gone even quieter. Stiller. No one moving. Or breathing.

Winnie somehow felt both Elian and his father go stiff. As if something had just periced through their hearts and they now couldn't breathe.

The painting was of a girl who seemed to be a year or two older than Winnie.

She had shoulder length, curly dark black hair that looked almost blueish, and golden brown eyes.

The portrait style looked familiar. Winnie squinted hard at the picture. . .and she suddenly realized.

It was a funeral painting.

In tiny calligraphy, her Dad had painted her name at the bottom of the picture.

Wendy Viotto.

Everyone was starting at the picture in silence.

Then the man took a sharp breath and covered the picture with the wrap paper.

He smiled at Winnie, "I'll get your payment. Just a minute!"

He disappeared behind the doors, and Winnie could hear his footsteps above, as the silence followed

It was a little awkward, without his presence.

Winnie wondered who Wendy was. Probably a family member most likely.

She never met anyone or knew anyone whose relative had died.

She couldn't even begin to imagine what it would feel like if a family member dies.

Was Wendy Mr. Westerfield's daughter?

Winnie didn't know what to say or do.

She walked towards a painting that hung on the brick wall.

Unfortunately, it was near where Elian was standing. He was not paying attention to her though.

The painting was of a mountain. It was from The Earlier Centuries. Mount Everest.

They had learnt in school that it used to be the highest peak in the world.

She glanced at Elian from beneath her lashes from the corner of her eyes.

He was writing something with full concentration, the sunset lighting illuminating his profile.

"May I ask what you are writing?" Winnie almost gasped at her sudden courage to ask the guy the question.

She didn't even think before she spoke! And what a nosy thing to ask!

Just like that Winnie knew she created an embarrassing moment for herself she will have a hard time forgetting for years.

She knew she wouldn't sleep well tonight.

Elian turned to look at her. The curve of his lips were full and naturally pink.

His expression, blank and serious at the same time.

It was a little intimidating.
It was as if he was trying to figure her out, just by scanning her face with his eyes.

At least it was just her face, Winnie thought. The boys in her school usually scanned other places. . .

"A funeral form. And another, a note to send to school that I will not attend for a few days," he sighs and turns back to the papers, continuing to write. "Not that it matters. School isn't a necessity."

Winnie didn't know what to say to that.

She clutched both her hands in front of her. She noticed Elian was wearing two watches.

It wasn't so weird to start gasping over it. But it did add on to his.......mysterious kind of aura.

Was he mysterious though? Or was Winnie just going ahead on herself?
Geez, she was here to deliver a painting. A funeral painting!

She just. . . never had a lot of interactions with people her age. She wondered what it was like to have a friend.

She was sure she used to have friends when she was, like, three years old.

But life gets harder, and responsibilities increase the moment you are just mature enough.

Winnie learnt that in her case, this was earlier than most kids.

"Who is-" Winnie stopped herself. "Who was Wendy, if I may ask?"

Elian looked at her again. Every time he did, it was sudden and sharp. Like she said something wrong. Did she?

He stared into her eyes. He had beautiful eyes, Winnie noticed.

His eyes looked like they knew a hundred secrets and thousands more they would keep.

Like he had something planned and he was looking at the others that they had no idea of what's to come.

"She was my cousin sister. A year elder than me; a high-school senior."

Winnie felt a pang of sympathy run through her heart.

"How did she...." Winnie didn't know how to frame her question.

But Elian seemed to understand what she was asking.

"She was killed I guess," Elian bent and continued writing. There was an almost invisible, bitter edge to his voice.

His casual answer shocked Winnie. Obviously she wanted to ask more, but it wasn't really her place, was it? He was obviously avoiding her and didn't wanted to answer her. He was a stranger.

Thankfully, right then, Mr. Westerfeld returned.

He paid Winnie and she quietly pocketed it in her dress pocket.
She thanked the man and he thanked her too.

With a last curious glance at Elian, she closed the glass door and left.

She didn't see Elian look up from the papers, looking after her as she cycled away.

***

Once she reached home, she parked her electro cycle in the alleyway between her house and the bakery beside it.

When she entered the gallery, she found, to her surprise, her mother sitting there.

She had come downstairs after almost a week now.

She had a cup of tea in her hand and was sitting at the desk chair in the corner. Winnie knew she was drinking tea because her mother despised coffee.

Winnie's father was no where to be seen.

"You're back!" Her mother said as she sipped her tea.

"Are you feeling okay?" Winnie walked over to the desk.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she waved away her question. "Aled! Winnie is back. Show her the painting!"

"Coming!" Her father muffled voice told Winnie that he was upstairs.

Winnie waited patiently for her father as her mother sipped her tea loudly.

Aled came downstairs holding a painting. He looked excited.

He must have recently finished the painting, Winnie thought.

Whenever he finished one, he took it upstairs for drying.

Usually, he didn't like to dry his paintings. He said it always turns out good if it dries naturally.

But sometimes when customers want the paintings fast, he has to. He often asks Winnie, her opinion on them. Maybe that was what he was going to do now, Winnie thought.

He arranged the painting on the canvas stand in the middle of the room. Then he turned it towards Winnie and her Mom.

Winnie gasped. It was a painting of her!

Winnie smiled wide. For the first time in a long time.

Her dad was making this while she delivered the funeral painting.

Winnie grinned, "Wow. It's beautiful!"

Her Dad grinned too. "It is!"

Her Mom smiled at her.

Winnie was this close to cry tears of happiness. Her Dad had never gifted her a painting before. And he certainly never painted her.

Winnie was about to thank him but she had to add something before.

"You certainly made me prettier than I am," Winnie laughed.

Her Dad laughed too. "Well, they didn't ask for an ugly painting. And you are more that just pretty."

Winnie stopped, focusing on the first half of the sentences.

They?

Wasn't this a gift for her?

And who would ask to make a painting of her anyway?

"You drew me for a customer?" Winnie asked. Sounding more confused than anything. Her voice came out half as a wail and half as an accusation.

"I took you as an inspiration!" Her father shook her head. As if it made a difference.

"I got a call yesterday morning," her Dad went on excitedly. "Someone was making a painting order. I asked him the descriptions. What he said sounded so much like how you looked, I decided to take you as a model!"

Winnie didn't know what to say. Again.

"Oh. Well," Winnie began just as her Dad's smile began to falter. So she quickly smiled and said, "I hope whoever it was will like the painting. I believe this is truly one of your best works!"

Her Dad smiled again, and her mother rubbed her shoulder as if to praise her.

***

That night, Winnie had a hard time sleeping.
And not because of the embarrassing incident with the boy.....what was his name? Elian!

Her father slept in the living room's couch bed which was between Winnie and her mother's room.

Her Mom had her medicine and was sleeping peacefully too. Winnie knew because she checked at least twice now.

She kept thinking about what her father had said.

"Someone was making a painting order. I asked him the descriptions. What he said sounded so much like how you looked, I decided to take you as a model!"

Winnie was having a bad gut feeling.

She couldn't help but think this was fishy. How come the descriptions exactly matched hers?

Her father was no fool. He's been painting a long time now. He wouldn't have taken her as an 'inspiration' if the descriptions weren't exactly like hers.
Or was she just overthinking ?

Who had ordered this painting?

Who was this person?

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Banners credits- Dayisdemigod from DreamlandCommunity