Got my head in the clouds {Open}

[Lillie Galleau]

“Well, I ain't never been the Barbie doll type
No, I can't swig that sweet Champagne, I'd rather drink beer all night
In a tavern or in a honky tonk or on a four-wheel drive tailgate
I've got posters on my wall of Skynyrd, Kid and Strait
Some people look down on me, but I don't give a rip
I'll stand barefooted in my own front yard with a baby on my hip
'Cause I'm a redneck woman!”

The quiet room around her seemed to vibrate with the sound of wild country music, and with a happy abandon, she sang along with it. Her voice wasn’t anything to shake a stick at, and according to her brothers, she could crack glass fifty miles away if she put her mind to it, but when Gretchen Wilson sang? A girl could do nothing but sing right along with her.

The small art gallery, her pride and joy, was stuck between a fashion store and a bait’n’tackle. None of her neighbors seemed to enjoy her choice of music, and she was counting the minutes until that telltale pounding on the wall, or blast of the telephone forced her out of her bubble of enjoyment. But, until then, she was content to hop around the room, singing on the top of her lungs and laughing when she forgot the words.

Doing a little two step, she pushed an ancient vacuum cleaner along the soft rug beneath her sandaled feet, singing as she went. The plain white dress she’d chosen that morning was practically blowing in the wind spat out from the tear in the vacuum bag, and she laughed as she imagined herself as some redneck Marilyn Monroe.

Gretchen got to the highlight of the song, guitar blasting and drums rocking, and abandoning her chores, she leapt into the middle of the room to boogy it out. It was no matter that the large pane window in the front of her store was probably giving everyone a clear view of the crazy woman dancing to an obnoxiously loud song. Or that, at any minute, a customer could be walking in, in search of some artistic beauty. All that mattered was that she’d managed to pay the rent, stave off her brothers from descending onto the shop- the loveable, protective little buggers- and stopped her co-manager from selling one of their best pieces to his girlfriend for a ridiculously discounted price. AND, on top of that, she hadn’t killed herself yet!

…Okay, scratch that last one. Whoever put a chair in the middle of the walkway should have their butt kicked a few times.

As she danced her way toward the backroom, the sweet lemonade she’d made that morning fresh in her mind, her foot managed to find the only piece of furniture she hadn’t mapped out. With a yelp and a crash, she came tumbling down onto the carpet, smacking her butt into the floor.
Ah, the joys of being blind. And people wondered why she didn’t normally cut loose like she had that morning.

With a sigh, Lillie lay on her back with her eyes closed, listening to the last dredges of Redneck Woman, before the shop went quiet. She stared into the inky darkness before her, lids or no, and, not for the first time, silently cursed it. She remembered a time when she could see, when a chair in her path wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But one car crash and a wintery road had changed all that.

“Not that any sane person should be dancing like crazy when customers are around,” She muttered with a little shake of her head. With a grunt, she pushed herself to her knees and proceeded to feel around the floor for anything she might have broke. Her fingers connected with the foot of her favorite canvas, and she chanced a smile.

Ah, her paintings, her art. Blind or no, somehow, Whoever was Upstairs had gifted her with dreams so vivid, that it practically hurt her not to paint them. She had no trouble finding the right colors or knowing if her lines were straight; somehow, her pieces came out as beautifully as they had appeared in her mind. But, to prevent others from thinking her some kind of anomaly, she’d created Rachel Beaumont, the ever hermetic artist, to present her pieces for her.

Standing, she ran her fingers over her latest painting. The face of some kind of dance club lingered in her mind’s eye; two women dancing on a platform, while a beautiful man watched from above. It was just one of the many paintings sold through Head in the Clouds, and would certainly not be the last. In the window, a mystical landscape was hung; its rolling green hills and almost wispy castles her favorite one yet.

With a sigh, she trailed her hand over the far wall, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, until she found the white cane resting idly near the front door. Life in darkness, with some glimpses of sunlight…she could definitely live with that.

[marius]

True that in his time art was different, but then again what one would expect when he existed since the dawn of time itself? Before mankind could ever form a coherent thought in one’s mind, he had been there. And to this day idle curiosity drove him, about their doings, their culture, their art. He had been reborn as one of them after all.

First it was just the same as a little boy looking about an ant farm, just something unimportant that caught his eyes. But he would return to gaze at this farm ant more and more over the ages to see great changes, humans were always evolving, and thus there held fascination over him. The gods? They were immutable, no matter how long had passes they remained the same in their petty squabble, so that had been the reason why a disillusioned one had chosen to merge with one of the humans.

At first sight, he was nothing more than the average man…if the average man held an imposing stance and had fierce eyes that instantly demanded respect, but still as far as the eye could see, a human. Dressed in a pair of jeans, a pair of brown boots and a blue dress shirt, Marius wandered in the gallery and his eyes moved from painting to painting in quiet contemplation.

The artist certainly was a talented one, but the art was unusual. He knew that the scenes depicted on those canvases were more than simple fantasy, they depicted a hidden world that most wasn’t aware of. To most of the world what existed bellow was only fables and children’s bed time stories…it was a cynical world this world of man.

Back then they would build grandiose temples in his honor, great statues to celebrate him and the other gods. And now, they were mostly forgot but to a handful. Who knew Mercury, the messenger of gods would be the one to believe that their time was long gone? This was the time of man, the ant farm had gone a long way. And with it, Mercury held a hidden pleasure in being part of it.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor of the gallery, he was lost in his thoughts of ages of old. When it all had begun? Oh yes, ancient Rome, he had been a little baby, knew slavery under the thumb of a cruel human master, knew war and its strategy, knew death and destruction and then knew love and bliss in a mortal woman’s arms.

It was then that something soft hit him and distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t react quickly enough, but again for him there wasn’t such a thing as he moved with blinding speed and caught the woman before she fell onto the ground.

“My apologies woman, I didn’t see you there,” he said holding her up. Yes, he was old and powerful but he knew manners. There was no glory in mistreating of the innocents…and the ancient god was still moved by a pretty face.

[Lillie Galleau]

Oh holy leotards, Batman! Where had the brick wall come from? In surprise, her eyes had popped open as her head angled itself toward the sound of an unfamiliar voice, silver veiled and disturbing to most. In the fracas, she’d dropped her cane and flinched at the loud crack of metal on wood.

Patting at her chest, as if the motion could calm her galloping heart, Lillie snapped her eyelids closed, bracing one hand on his chest as her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Oh, please, don’t let her start babbling, as she was want to do when nervous or flustered…

“Well, we’re even, because I didn’t see you either,” The joke slid easily off of her tongue, as she patted at her paint stained smock for the dark sunglasses she’d stored there. Taking a careful step back from the stranger, she turned her face away, slid them on, and immediately bent down to search for her cane.

“And it’s really me who should be apologizing,” She went on. “I didn’t even know that we had a customer in the Gallery. I’m so sorry if you’ve been waiting for some help; my usual assistant had a family emergency and had to leave a bit early today. There’s a pull downstairs, though, right near the front door, if you ever need help and no one’s around. I usually man the upstairs part of the gallery, and that pully sets off a bullhorn that nobody can ignore…and jeeze, are you alright? I didn’t smack your nose or anything, did I? Step on a toe? Oh, where are you, you little bugger…aha.”

Well, there went her ‘don’t babble’ promise. Finding her cane, she straightened with a forced smile on her face. The sounds of soft breathing grounded her, and she made sure she faced Mr. Brick Wall, instead of the plaster wall beside them.

Holding out a hand, she plastered on a happy face. “Once again, I’m really sorry. My name’s Lillie Galleau, and I’m one of HitC’s owners. Did you see anything that sparked an interest? Oh, and if you’re thirsty, I have some fresh lemonade in the back room. Hold on one minute, I’ll get you a glass!”

And give her a minute to right herself. Whoo, be still her beating heart, because that man had an accent to die for. She couldn’t place it…but then again, that wasn’t a surprise. The only time she’d ever gone out of New Orleans was to get an experimental surgery on her eyes…and that was only to Haven county, four hours away.

Her cane made soft tapping noises as she quickly moved toward the back room. Twenty steps to the little kitchenette, she counted off habitually, and five more to the fridge. Cups in the left cupboard, tray in the right, napkins next to the sink. A few minutes later, she was carefully maneuvering back to her possible customer.

“You still there, Sir?” She called out, keeping a firm hold on the glass. “Lemonade’s the best part of shopping for a great art piece, just so you know.”

[marius]

Humans were always an interesting race to behold, even after he had spent so long among them, they still spark his interest. Like her embarrassment to such a mundane event, people was always in such a hurry to get to places that most of the time they didn’t even bothered to look at the path they had taken. This wasn’t the case about him, as he was in no hurry to embrace the future but instead had been with his mind trapped in the past.

And neither with her as he got a glimpse of her eyes.

She really hadn’t been looking where she was going, not that Marius would hold it against her. Once he had been a merciless warrior that considered any weakness an advantage to be exploited in combat, but the witch of the wilds had taught the meaning of compassion. It wasn’t a weakness as he had been led to believe at first, but strength.

And by the gods! Didn’t that woman ever silenced her tongue? Good thing she had to stop to breath, and he could catch the nervous undertone in her voice.

“It is alright, I…”

And there she went again, her name was Lillie Galleau and she was rushing of to get him a glass of lemonade, Marius shook his head and a small smile traced his features. Indeed humans were quite interesting.

Once again the ancient got allowed his eyes to wander and they got caught into a particular painting. It looked remarkably like the old Coliseum he fought in ancient Rome, and in the middle of the arena stood a male form with a blood sword in hand, and its face…it was the face he had when he wore since he had been reborn. And the title was ‘The god reborn’.

He heard her voice, but he was unable to take his eyes away from the painting that remarkably resembled him.

“Are you the artist?” he asked her, “I would like to know where you find your inspiration. This painting, ‘The god reborn’, who is he?”

[Lillie Galleau]

Letting her hands curl around the cool glass, Lillie couldn’t help the little flash of pride that settled into her chest. As far as society was concerned, she was just another disadvantaged woman who had only a handful of options in life, who should be pitied and protected. But, somehow, through her art, she was able to be so much more.

She could travel through the mystical lands that flashed before the inky darkness surrounding her. She could caress the faces of nameless people, bring joy to others by allowing them to be transported to the worlds that had kept her going for so long.

She couldn’t explain how it happened; how, even though blind, she was still able to paint the beautiful images that danced around in her head. But heck if she was going to mull over it. She loved to paint, she could still paint and others liked her paintings. That was all that mattered to her.

…Well, that and the fact that no one knew about her ‘gifts.’ Heck if she wanted to be poked and prodded by any more well meaning doctors, or seen as some kind of freak. She was self conscious as it was.

“Oh no, I’m not the artist,” The lie fell easily off of her lips, as practiced as it was. “As you can see, I’m really not in the position to paint much of anything. The artist is a woman named Rachel Beaumont.”

Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the wall below the painting, fingers finding the familiar brail letters etched into a bronze plaque. So that she could always tell which piece she was looking at, her co-manager had made it a point to make up the little signs for her, each time one was placed on the wall.

“Oh yes, ‘The God Reborn.’ I’m sorry to say that the inspiration for the paintings aren’t known. Miss Beaumont isn’t very forthcoming with her models…but between you and me? I think they’re from dreams. What else could give her such a fantasy-like image? I’m told that it is beautiful, though. The way the man is standing in the middle of the ring…it almost seems like he’s waiting to die.”

The man’s face slowly slid into the forefront of her mind’s eye. He was almost frightening to look at; hard, world weary eyes that told of so much disappointment in the past. She’d had one hell of a time painting the particular image, as she’d wanted to put something kinder into the picture. Something that would make that grimly triumphant look change to something softer. But heck, it was only a dream.

Giving her head a little shake, she turned her attention back to the stranger. “So, what do you think of the piece? Lovely, isn’t it?”

[marius]

That painting sparkled memories into his mind, memories of a violent past, of blood and struggle. He could almost hear the clamor of the crowd as clear as it had been back then, could almost smell the spilled blood in the breeze. It was like if the walls of the gallery disappeared and he was again standing into the arena. Back then he knew not who he was, he had been a slave, breed only for killing.

“Rachel Beaumont,” he repeated the name as his mind slowly returned to the present. “I must know her, I would know more of her…dreams.”

Marius knew it wasn’t a fantasy or a simple dream. Could it be that this Beaumont woman was one that had stood there amidst the crowd of the coliseum? An immortal like him, someone that knew who and what he was?

Waiting to die.

When you’re a slave and all that you know is death, what else could one expect for? But he had endured in mortal form, more than anyone should have before he knew the truth, before he remembered. And he knew a woman that made him desire to remain amongst mankind instead of returning to his rightful place amongst the gods.

“It is intriguing to say the least,” he told her. “I must own it, the price is not an issue, but I must talk to the artist.”

Stepping away from the painting, he allowed his eyes to fall upon the woman once more. Somehow, she too sparkle his curiosity. At first she seemed like a simple blind woman, but Marius could sense something about her, something intangible that went beyond the simple beauty of her face. There was almost a look of…pride in her features.

Marius knew enough of the world to know appearances could be misleading.

“If only the man in the picture was holding a sword instead of a spear…” he said perfectly aware that the image held a bloody sword on its hand.

[Lillie Galleau]

Uh oh. He wanted to meet Rachel Beaumont? Houston, we have a problem.

Keeping her smile as innocent as possible, Lillie merely stood quietly, as if she hadn’t heard the man’s declaration. There was no way that he could meet Rachel Beaumont, because she didn’t exist…but it wasn’t as if he was the first to ask to meet her. Art dealers, customers and other artists alike had all been into the Gallery, demanding to meet the elusive artist. Little did they know that they were looking right at her, she thought with a little sigh.

Blind women couldn’t paint; it was a given thing. And, because the last thing that she wanted was to make people think she was possessed by a demon, or something, she did her best to make sure it stayed a given thing.

“Well, I’m so happy that you like it, Sir,” She said happily, cane clicking as she turned to head over to the small desk by the window. “All of Miss Beaumont’s paintings are very reasonably priced…let me just fine the exact amount for you…” Picking up the little ledger of notes, she let her fingers slide around the brail, searching for the painting and its price listing. ‘The God Reborn’ was one of her favorite pieces, but she had a feeling that the man would take care of it. She liked to think that she had a gift for knowing true appreciators and ones only interested in lighting up their living room.

His question cut through her reverie, and, with a frown, she straightened, turning back to him. “I’m sorry, a spear? That can’t be right…the man in the painting is holding a sword. It should be slender and painted in grey, with a little jewel on the hilt. Do you see it?”

Pausing, she cleared her throat, turning back to her ledger. “My co-manager described it to me when Miss Beaumont dropped it off. If it is truly a spear, it must not be the correct painting. I’ll have to wait for my co-manager to come back to confirm. Would you mind giving me your name and a way to contact you?”

Shuffling papers around, she managed to snag a paper and pen, holding it out for him with another smile.

[marius]

That was quite an accurate description for a blind woman. She might now of the painting, but in so much detail? It was doubtful that a co-manager of the gallery would describe such a detail so vividly and that she would remember it with such certainty. Taking the paper and pen from her hand, Marius looked at her in silence for a moment.

“Shall I write my real name and contact address or make up a fake persona like you did miss Beaumont?”

There had been Seers and some were in fact blind, but they couldn’t describe images if not for their mind’s eyes. Was this woman one of them, had she been on Rome in the same time he had? He couldn’t sense the power of the gods upon her, she wasn’t one of them, of that he could sense. Neither was she the offspring of god and man.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth behind this painting? Who is the man in it and how did you came up with this image?” He asked putting the pen and paper aside, he had seen no sign of recollection on her face when she had talked to him. And she had bumped into him earlier so Marius had no reason to disbelieve her blindness, but it was obvious she was being less than honest with him.

She sparkle the curiosity of the god reborn. Humans had that tendency, when the gods were mostly immutable, a woman had managed to surprise him.

[Lillie Galleau]

There weren’t many things that she remembered of her childhood; of the years not commanded by the inky darkness that surrounded her. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face, whether or not her eldest brother had blue eyes or green, or what that cute little bunny rabbit she carried with her everywhere looked like. What she did recall, as strange and comical as it was, was the surprised look of her favorite Looney Tunes character, as the missile came careening toward it. The wide eyes, the loud ‘awoooga!’ sounds, the jaw dropping down to its caricatured feet…

Probably what she looked like, when the stranger’s words registered in her head. The Wiley Coyote with its jaw making an indentation in the floorboards, while her eyeballs bugged out of their sockets. Thank God for sunglasses.

Ducking her head, lest he read the shock on her face- her brother Pat always liked to say that she was like an open book- she turned on her heel to walk carefully back to the desk. Busying herself with shuffling papers, she did her best not to keep her voice calm.

“I have no idea why you would say something like that,” She said, putting just a hint of a scoff in her voice for effect. “A fake name…really now. What do I look like? Miz James-ette Bond? Miss Beaumont is a respected artist in this community, and…why would I lie about that, first of all? And second of all, she doesn’t disclose the models that she paints.”

Oh great, now she was sounding defensive. That would make her seem like she wasn’t lying. Clearing her throat, she resisted the urge to snatch up the lemonade she’d brought him and chug it down herself.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but that painting was done by Miss Beaumont. I can inquire where she got the inspiration, or you could leave some questions for her, and I’ll see that she gets them.”

Ha, take that. And people said she couldn’t do coolly professional. Hopefully, her face wasn’t showing the truckload of guilt she was feeling for lying, or the shock that he’d actually figured it out.

[marius]

Marius blue eyes perceived the impact his words had carried into the woman’s face and the ancient god had a hard time to prevent himself from laughing even so that she was quick to try to cover up her little secret and dismiss his comment. Crossing his arms over his chest, he eyed her while she continued with her charade.

It was doubtful that this woman had seen him back when he knew nothing of his true nature, when he was a slave who fought and killed for the entertainment of his merciless human masters. A god enslaved by man, it would be laughing matter if it wasn’t true.

But in his time amongst men, the messenger of the gods had learned more of them than he at first expected. And yes, he was aware of mankind’s concept of cinema and the adventures of a certain mortal spy named James Bond. Those movies mankind created amazed him to a degree.

“I do believe this Miss Beaumont is a respect artist in the community, but I find I highly doubtful that the community is aware that she is a façade for a beautiful blind artist that can paint without her eyesight. “

Leaning against the wall, he smiled entertained.

“Trust it, your secret is safe with me. There is nothing to be gained with exposing you, and I’m open to believing in the uncommon and unnatural.”

If she only knew…

[Lillie Galleau]

“You…I…she…GAR. You ridiculously stubborn...man!” Jeeze, this guy was a tough cookie! Most people would have stammered some apologies, left their information and hightailed it out of the Gallery by now…but him? Oh no, of COURSE, he had to have the nerve to see through all of her lies and poke right at the truth.

There it went; her anonymity, her feeling of normalcy. Gone, poof, up in smoke. What if he was a reporter who’d gotten to the truth? Some kind of fanatic who would want to kill her for being a weirdo? Or, GOD, what if he were the competition? Another art dealer or gallery owner looking to make her seem like a fraud? She was going to have to move, stop painting, maybe hide out with her brothers—

Oh, wait, hold the phone. Did he say that her secret was safe?

Thoroughly surprised, Lillie could do nothing but release a nervous laugh. Before she could do something stupid, she found herself leaning back onto the desk until she was half reclined on the cluttered surface.

“How did you find out?” She asked in a small, unhappy voice. “Everyone else seems to accept the fact that Beaumont’s a hermit who paints cool pieces that I sell in my gallery. Why couldn’t you do the same? I mean…the paintings. They’re nothing special. Just dreams that I put down on canvas.”

She didn’t mention the fact that, if she didn’t, the compulsion seemed to take over with a vengeance. Like last Christmas, when she’d been so sick that she couldn’t get out of bed, even after one of her normal vivid dreams. Her youngest brother, who had come over to make sure she didn’t break her neck on the stairs, found her sprawled out in the living room with a mural of yet another fantasy land on the wall, with no memory of how she, or it, got there.

It was just safer to paint when she felt the need. Heck if she wanted to wake up half naked, trying to paint a bunch of parked cars, or anything.

Leaning back on one hand, she sighed, the fingers of her free hand massaging her forehead. “I don’t want this to come out, Mister…oh, I never asked your name. But…I have a certain position in this community. If people find out that the blind lady can paint things…it won’t be good for me. Do you understand?”

[marius]

It was entertaining to watch her stutter. The unbelieving look on her face due to his persistence, the very reason humans still intrigued him after all this time, the reason why he had decided to remain in this mortal husk instead of returning to his rightful place amongst the gods. They were unpredictable, curious beings. If there were two humans in one room, they would have six different opinions.

“I’m curious and inquisitive by nature, and you gave it away when you described the painting in such vivid detail.”

So she was an oracle. It had been centuries since Marius was in the presence of such creatures. A refreshing change from the old hag with her face littered with warts that was for sure. The fact that had led him to see him in her visions however, was what had captured his interest. She had made him remember of memories that had remained untouched for centuries.

“My name is Marius, and don’t worry, I was telling the truth when I said your secret is safe with me. I have no intention of disrupting your charade in any way, but those dreams of yours interest me. I would want to know all you can share of them, of this gladiator. Do they tell you of the future, of other figures?”

Placing his open hands on the table, he leaned closer to study her. Definitively a lot better than facing warts. “Lillie, will you share those dreams with me?Tell me of your visions?”

[Lillie Galleau]

“Yeah, me and my big mouth. Remind me to buy stock in duck tape next time…” Came the answering mutter, as the gallery owner angled her face toward him. Absently, she picked at the bottom hem of her shirt, resisting the urge to fidget.

Especially when his voice sounded right near her ear. Darnnit, there really were some times that she wished she could see. She could hear the sincerity in the man’s voice, but she’d met her fair share of smooth talkers. What if he really was a reporter? God, this couldn’t get out.

She could just hear Tyson railing about the tabloids now: ‘Blind Artist Paints Fantasy Paintings; Possible Daughter of an Alien?’

As Marius leaned closer, Lillie leaned back. She couldn’t see his face coming nearer, but she could definitely feel the soft puffs of breath coming her way, and she squirmed a bit in nervousness. For one thing, she was a blind lady in an empty building with a strange man. Secondly, he was the first person who’d figured out her little charade. Thirdly, and most importantly…when the heck had she ever been in a room with a strange man before? Oh yeah, that’s right; never.

“I see a whole bunch of things in my dreams,” She said slowly, still fidgeting a bit. “People, animals, things that look like a mixture of the two. I also see different lands and wars. Lots of wars, lately…bloodshed and chaos.”

Scooting a bit farther up onto the desk, she crossed her ankles and let them swing. “I’m never quite sure what is the past and what’s the present. I usually go by scenery or clothing…but sometimes, things look the same. For instance, there’s a man that I’ve been painting some nights, who I’ve ‘seen’ in 16th century clothing and a modern Armani suit. But…I’ve seen the gladiator in both the past, present…and I think the future. Why, Marius? Why are you so curious about him?”

She leaned forward suddenly, curiosity clearly written on her face. “Do you know why the same guy pops up in my dreams, looking exactly the same, but in different times? It’s almost as if…he’s alive, somehow. Which is crazy, but if you could tell me anything…”

[marius]

Marius noticed when the woman pulled slightly away from him, personal space as humans called it, he had no intention of violating that. And so he stepped away and moved back to gaze at the painting fittingly named ‘The god reborn’. From what she was saying, she didn’t quite grasp what her visions meant, knowledge and ignorance bind together…how curious.

“You were right to keep your visions a secret. Those dreams of yours, they are more than just dreams, they are indeed visions. Like the oracles had in the past, your ability can attract the wrong kind of attention and you should be careful in who you trust.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he eyed her. Probably his words would confuse her even further, but the ancient god knew no real way to ease her into it. Besides her reluctance, she had shared the truth with him and taken a leap of faith, it was only right that he returned it to an extent. If he was to say to her he was the gladiator of her paintings she would most likely would take him for a madman and trust would be even more distant.

“I know believing the words of a complete strange is a little too much to ask, especially when it is about something that might seen so fantastic to you, but my words are true. As far as the gladiator, it is not insane to believe he is alive. “

And then again if she saw him in her dreams, he might not be a complete stranger in a way. But her eyes couldn’t reveal the truth to her. Stepping towards the woman, Marius gently took her hand in his and raised her hand so that she could examine his face with it.

Mercury was taking a leap of faith.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t kill this mortal woman with ease, but he believed if she didn’t knew the truth, she would be in grave danger of others who wouldn’t like to see their life hanging in some mortal’s living room.

[Lillie Galleau]

Wait, wait…back up there a second. ‘People she couldn’t trust?’ ‘Oracles?’ ‘VISIONS?’ What the heck was going on here? What, was this some kind of sick joke? Did her brothers put him up to this? Was Tyson outside somewhere with a video camera, yaking it up?

While her brain proceeded to wig out and have some serious palpitations, her gut was telling a different story, however. All of her life, she loved to paint; loved to feel the smooth wood of a paintbrush between her fingers and see colors meld on a blank canvas. After she’d lost her sight, she’d thought that it had all been taken away from her…but it wasn’t. Somehow, some way and through some kind of intervention, she was able to paint the brilliant images swirling around her mind. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t expected, really…so why not believe in visions or the supernatural.

Though she heard his approach, she couldn’t help but jump a bit in surprise as his hand descended onto hers. She forced herself to stay still when her instincts screamed that she run away…and blinked behind her glasses when her fingers met the skin of his cheek.

Carefully, she smoothed her fingertips around the dips and ridges of his face, her other hand coming up to do the same. In her head, she started to draw the image that came to mind; smaller nose, high brow line, Romanesque chin, pronounced cheekbones…

Oh, holy crap.

“Oh, holy guacamole,” She breathed, eyes widening behind her glasses. Thank God she was already sitting on the desk; her knees felt so wobbly that she was sure they were knocking. The image in her head matched the image in the painting…and holy guacamole, the God Reborn was real.

He was real. REAL. Not a painting, not a dream…real. Holy guacamole.

“How is this possible?” The question came out with awe quick on its heels. Her hands drifted from his face to his shoulders, then away. With an almost childish moue of her lips, she cocked a brow and poked his chest.

Solid. Holy guacamole.

"You're real. God, if you're real, my other paintings might be real. All of those different worlds, the people...the wars. God, the MONSTERS. Holy guacamole...REAL!"

Whoof, deep breaths. Fanning at her face, she sucked in a few large ones, tipping her head forward.