It takes him a few steps to reach my side and wrap an arm around my shoulder. My brother is about four years older than me and it shows in every contour of his face. In every sure step he takes.
In every calculated move.
Bran has always been orange to me—warm, deep, and one of my favorite colors.
He doesn’t speak for a moment, silently eyeing the painting. I don’t dare to look at it or how he studies it.
I almost don’t dare to breathe as his hand lies nonchalantly on my shoulder like whenever we need each other’s company.
Bran and I have always been a team against the tyrant Lan.
“It’s…absolutely fantastic, Glyn.”
I stare at him from beneath my lashes. “Are you teasing me?”
“I wouldn’t do that about art. I didn’t know you were hiding this talent from us.”
I would rather call this a disaster, a manifestation of my fucked-up muse, than talent.
It can be anything but talent.
“Wait till Mum sees this. She’ll have a blast.”
“No.” I step away from him, the reassurances from earlier fading into terror. “I don’t want to show her… Please, Bran, not Mum.”
She’ll know.
She’ll see the violation in the bold strokes and the chaotic lines.
“Hey…” Bran pulls my shaking body into a hug. “It’s okay. If you don’t want Mum to see, I won’t tell her.”
“Thanks.” I bury my face in his chest, and I must dirty his clothes with all the oil paint, but I don’t release him.
Because for the first time since the ordeal, I can finally let go.
I feel safe from everything.
My own head included.
My fingers dig into my brother’s back and he holds me. Silently.
This is why I love Bran the most. He knows how to be an anchor. He knows how to be a brother.
Unlike Lan.
After a while, we break apart, but he doesn’t allow me to leave. Instead, he perches down to stare at me. “What is it, little princess?”
That’s what Dad calls me.Little princess.
Mum is the original princess. The one Dad worships at her altar and makes all her dreams come true.
I’m the princess’s daughter and, therefore, the little princess.
I wipe at the moisture in my eyes. “Nothing, Bran.”
“You don’t sneak to the basement at five in the morning, paint this, and then say it’s nothing. It can be every word under the sun, butnothingshould not be on the menu.”
I grab a palette and start mixing random colors just to keep my mind and hands occupied.