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Chapter One

Raindrops slid lazily down the window. A light breeze explored the room, sending papers twirling and curtains rustling. Pencils knocked one another and pens rolled across the old wooden desk. A black fluffy cat slunk regally from its spot in the corner, glaring angrily out the window at the rain. The small bed creaked as Wren shifted her weight. Wren loved the rain. It inspired her. It built the foundations of a story in her mind, and soon enough her pencil would dance across the page and create a beautiful drawing. She loved to draw. Wren drew from her heart, not her head. She played with emotions and ideas and each artwork told a story. Then once her pencil had finished, she would take her pen to it and finalize it in black ink. Then she sprayed it with sealer so the ink work never run and the pencil would never smudge, and her work would never fade, immortalizing the beautiful concept she had created.

“Time for dinner!” Wren’s mother called, breaking her from the trancelike state that drawing put her in.

“Coming!” She called, and stumbled down the stairs into the brightly lit kitchen. The table was set beautifully with a lace table runner and a lovely floral centerpiece. Each plate was set evenly apart in tangent to each chair and knifes and forks lay on folded napkins. Laurel took great pleasure in seeing the table so neatly set and relished in her duty to do it each night.

“Hey Laurel.” Wren addressed her older sister casually.

“Hey Wren! Created any new masterpieces today? What do you think of the table tonight? Have you done your homework yet? I wonder what Mother has made for dinner? Do you think Mother might let me makes some scones for tea?” Laurel babbled. Laurel often dominated a conversation, asking lots of questions and not giving time for an answer before continuing her spiel.

“Hush, Laurel.” Their mother said. “Come help me bring these dishes over would you?”

Laurel got up to help and Wren fell into a daydream. Figures danced through her mind, scenes filled her head and ideas sprung to life. Her thoughts were like a motor, the only power it needed was the promise of creativity. The stories she would create, the characters she would bring to life, and all she needed was a pencil. She ached to go back to her room and draw, but she didn’t dare upset mother and Laurel. Mother would have made something fabulous for them to eat and Laurel had set the table so nicely.

Sam swung into the room just as Mother was placing the food down on the table.

“Mmm that smells goooood!” he exclaimed. Sam’s blue eyes were bright and his blonde hair looked messier than usual. Sam was Wren’s younger brother, he was thirteen.

“Oh Sam, what happened to your shirt!?” Mother cried, staring at the large stain on the front of his new polo.

“I was having a snowball fight with Nick and I fell in a mud puddle.”

“How did you have a snowball fight in the middle of Summer?” Wren asked, looking dubiously at him.

“Well it wasn’t exactly a snowball fight…”

“Were you guys throwing mud at each other again?”

“Maybe…”

“Sam!”

“Whaaaaat?”

“Oh Sam. Go wash your face and hands and then come have some dinner.” Mother sighed.

Same did as he was asked, and before long they were all tucking in to a delicious roasted chicken and Yorkshire puddings, with roast potatoes and steamed beans.

Wren finished quickly, longing to go finish her latest artwork. She bounced up the stairs and into her room, flopping onto her bed. Her latest piece was set in a park, a couple stood together under delicate trees and a starry sky, staring into each others eyes wistfully. It might have seemed corny to some, but something about their expressions tugged at the heartstrings of any who looked at it. Wren had worked hard and was very proud. Wren had almost finished, she had reached the crucial stage where the smallest mishap could ruin the whole piece and make all her hours of dedication worth nothing. But Wren was well practiced. She drew the final line and sprayed it down with sealer. It was complete.

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