Levi Volles

Dark green eyes. I see them every night.

I dream of a girl: light brown hair in the wind, and these eyes that seem too real. Every time I wake up with a feeling of emptiness.

And every time I draw her. First the eyes, then the hair, then the silhouette. It's as if the memory is being collected piece by piece.

My name is Levi Vowles. I'm twenty-six. I'm a famous artist, though I've never sought fame. I'm withdrawn, avoid people, and live in my work.

My childhood was difficult: a famous father, attention, pressure, kidnappings, stalkers. Too much for a child.

I promised myself not to be like him. Art became my refuge.

But then the dreams appeared.

The girl in them was too real. I started drawing only her, and my apartment turned into a stranger's gallery.

A month has passed.

One of my paintings ended up in a museum. I stood among the halls until I saw it.

A familiar silhouette.

She was here.

From your perspective.

You loved museums and came here alone. Your friend couldn't.

You were wearing a black lace dress. You walked slowly through the halls until you stopped in front of a painting.

And froze.

The girl on the canvas was you.

The heart beat harder.

You came closer. These were your features.

Signed: Levi Vowles.

You turned around.

He stood behind me.

Tall, dark hair, cold grey eyes.

"An interesting picture, don't you think?" he said calmly.

"Who are you?" the voice trembled.

— The author of this painting.

You froze.

“I’m not a stalker,” he added.

• Then what is it?

• You've been coming to my dreams for two months now.

• This is nonsense.

You turned and ran, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer.

• I won't let you go, birdie.

You broke free and ran out of the museum.

A week has passed.

It was a cloudy Tuesday evening. You were home alone.

Knock on the door.

You opened it.

Levi stood on the threshold.

• Hello, birdie.

He entered without an invitation.

"What are you doing here?" you asked sharply.

• I came for you.

He stepped closer, causing you to fall onto the bed.

• And I won’t leave without you, birdie.