Page 6 of Crystal Iris #1

Four

“Creativity takes courage.” – Henri Matisse

M y headache is now insufferable; no pill seem to ease it. It’s woken me up again. It isn’t even six o’clock, and Aaron is already gone. I check my phone and see his text about an early meeting. I find myself with nowhere to be for hours and in need of fresh air.

Days have passed since I emailed Elena, still no reply.

I’m starting to get restless with the wait.

I have no plan B. Nothing else to research.

The more I search the internet, the more I realize it’s pointless.

Wherever I go, whatever I do, I always find myself wondering: W hat is this necklace my mother gave me?

Did she know something? Why did she give it to me?

The answers are probably at my fingertips…

if only I could bring myself to open it.

I scan the calm water of the Charles River during the chilly morning.

The sun has only recently risen, and a few runners jog by, completely lost in their exhaustion.

I’ve always admired the discipline of those who run in December.

If the cold isn’t enough to fight against, they’ve got the holidays to deal with, too.

They breeze past me and soon vanish from view.

So much to do, yet I want nothing to do with any of it.

Aaron wants to decorate his place—our place—for Christmas.

Akira is still acting weird. My old apartment is a hot mess with boxes scattered everywhere.

I still haven’t come up with a plan for the final assignment I’m supposed to be giving.

Despite the long list of things to do, all I want is to curl up with a cup of hot chocolate under the covers and let a good book help me forget it all.

As I shift my gaze to the water, I feel a pull to bring out the prism.

Since the club, I’ve kept it hidden underneath my clothes—easy enough with all the winter layers.

Even when it’s dormant, I swear I can feel its presence.

I debated telling Aaron about it. Although after seeing Akira’s reaction, I knew this wasn’t something I could share with anyone.

I could almost hear Aaron’s words if I did: “There’s no such thing as the supernatural.

Everything has an explanation. Maybe you created this to satisfy a certain subconscious need.

” He’d say anything except the word pathetic , and that’s exactly how he would make me feel.

Consequently, I have been keeping it all to myself.

I’m lost in thought, twisting the prism in my palm, when something cold hits my nose.

I look up to see the first snowflakes of the season.

I close my eyes, letting myself simply feel for a moment.

A surprise welcomes me when I reopen them—the violet hue is exactly as I remember it.

Alluring and trapped. The sight of it makes my heart race.

I get closer and whisper, “ What are you? ” Only it begins to fade.

I let out a soft laugh at the absurdity of talking to it.

I keep staring, silently begging for it to stay longer, but it doesn’t.

When I look around again, I find that I’m no longer alone.

Staring at me from only a few feet away is Darion. Did he see…?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a little too defensively. He startled me with his proximity. I quickly let the prism fall back to my chest, swinging gently, caught by the chain. I don’t wait for him to respond. “I was… It’s snowing,” I add, gesturing to the air.

Darion looks at me strangely, his black-framed glasses perched on his nose and his hair—just a shade darker than mine—greasy and unkempt.

Before I can say anything else, he asks, “What is that?”

Of course, he saw it.

“What?” I’m not sure how to answer. “The necklace?” I realize he’s staring at it. “Oh, it’s… a family heirloom. I think it’s broken though. The light goes on and off…” There is something about him that freaks me out. “I’m late for a meeting, but nice seeing you.”

I’m almost out of breath by the time I catch a cab.

The encounter was weird—he was so close, too close .

My heart is pounding at a speed I can only associate with the runners going by.

I feel dizzy. I loosen my scarf and practice my breaths in the car, completely aware that I probably look and sound disturbed.

In and out, in and out. By the time I get home, I’ve managed to calm myself down.

I decide grocery shopping can wait. Laundry can wait. I grab my novel and head to bed, pressing the buttons of Aaron’s automatic shades. I’m done with the world for the day.

I have another nightmare. This time, it’s Darion hunting me. I really don’t want to see him today. Still, I know it will be impossible to avoid him since he’s my student.

The campus is covered in snow, and walking requires concentration.

I’m focusing on my footing when I hear a ping from my phone.

All notifications are silenced except one.

Elena has sent a reply. If I could run without risking breaking my neck, I would.

By the time I’m inside and no longer freezing my ass off, I read:

Hi Iris,

Sorry for the delay. I’m still on maternity leave and have been slowly catching up with my inbox.

My guess is that you’ve already explored the classic tales like The Great Ring.

If you need to go deeper, I recommend the book Accessories I just needed her to move along. When Mila wants something, she can be persistent.

“Oh, shouldn’t we be focusing on critiques by now?” she says, her voice laced with attitude.

“You guys haven’t proven you’re ready for them yet.” I try to stay calm. She doesn’t like my answer. I’m already sorry for whoever Mila ends up critiquing.

With the girls gone, I look up The Great Ring tale.

I remember it vaguely—every historian has come across it at some point.

It’s nothing more than a children’s bedtime story.

According to the Russian legend, there was once a diamond ring capable of making its owner live longer; however, there was a price for the longevity.

When death finally came to claim the body, the wearer had to give his soul in return.

It was the previous owner’s soul that powered the ring and extended the new user’s life. Classic myth.

Now I have to think about how to reply to Elena. I’m not sure if I should mention a prism. With Darion and Akira already knowing about it, I need to be more careful. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Darion again, and I wish I had skipped breakfast. To my relief, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“We’re covering a Baroque painting today, Las Meninas by Velázquez. Remember what we talked about last week? About the highly ornate and dramatic style of the Baroque? This is a great example. Does anyone know who the main little girl in the center is?”

“The king’s daughter,” Becky answers proudly.

“Correct. Why is this artwork greatly known and discussed?”

“Because it’s a painting about a painting,” says Stella.

“That’s right. Velázquez was able to create different illusions, playing with the perspective.

We are left unsure if the portrait subject is Margaret, her parents, or the painter himself.

He uses light and dark to define the focal points.

It’s often said that Velázquez meant this work to suggest that art, and life, are an illusion. ”

I heat up my leftovers and carry them back to bed.

My eyes feel like they might bleed after staring at the thick volume for hours.

The only copy I could find of the book Elena mentioned was in Italian.

With enough drawings and charts to fuss over, I brought it home anyway.

Depictions of i ncantate — enchanted —necklaces, rings, and crowns fill the pages.

There are also grotesque sketches of body parts, including organs.

Nothing looks like my prism. I’m back to square one.

With Aaron gone on a business trip, I’m relieved to have the place to myself. I know I need to go back to my apartment soon; I’m running out of clothes again. I need to get my life together. I think to myself before deciding to actually do something about it.

It’s been ages since I’ve done a proper meditation session.

They kept me steady in college, and later in grad school; I pretty much owe those practices my degrees.

There isn’t a yoga mat here; I simply push the coffee table aside and sit on the rug.

I place a lit candle in front of me and begin the process.

A combination of inhales and exhales, and a focused stare at the flame. I was to acknowledge my body and the sounds around me and let them go.

I scan my feet, then an itch on my back lifts my attention, which I tell myself to let it go. I continue going through my entire body, from the bottom up, noticing the headache at bay.

I turn my focus to the sounds around me. There’s nothing besides my breathing and the hum of the apartment’s heat.

Before I can focus entirely on the flame, my tears start to fall. It requires no effort on my part. They wash away my makeup; I know my mirrored reflection would likely resemble a scary clown. But there’s no one here. No one I need to look pretty for. It’s a great feeling—being oneself, truly free.

And so I let myself cry. I cry for Dad, for my mom, for Aaron, for the wedding, for the prism… and then I cry for myself.

And then, once again, the prism lights up for me.

This time, I understand. Water. The prism requires moisture to light up.

First, the water from the bathtub, then the snow, now my tears, and the time at the club?

My sweat. At last, some answers. However, something is still missing, something I don’t understand.

The prism didn’t do anything when I showered.

There’s more to it than just getting it wet.

I bring the candle closer to the violet light.

The reflection of the flame enhances the prism’s inner glow, and the more I decrease the distance, the weirder I feel.

But I’m done waiting. I need to know more.

I push it closer and closer to the flame, defying what feels like nature’s law.

The prism begins to spin uncontrollably, suddenly alive and agitated. I blink—and everything goes black.

I can’t see anything. Panic starts creeping in. I can’t control my eyes. I open and shut them—still nothing. I reach for my phone, but the darkness doesn’t relent.

Then, suddenly, the blackness gives way .

Somehow, I’m in another place. I can almost feel the ground beneath my feet.

My brain fights the concept, knowing I’m still sitting in my living room.

I’m not actually here , I tell myself. I scan the room, afraid that I’m losing my mind.

I’m not dreaming . I’m stuck, imprisoned in my own eyes. I have no choice but to look around.

A fireplace casts a warm glow over the rustic room.

Animal heads are mounted on the walls—far larger than I imagined they’d be in real life.

My eyes dart around, frantically searching for a way out.

Through the windows, I see mountains. It’s snowing here too.

I’m still looking for a door when I see. .. him .

A handsome, dark-haired man sits on a leather chair by the fire. By the look on his face, he sees me too. I step back, though something inside me tells me I have nothing to fear. I try to open my mouth, but no sound comes out. His green eyes are wide with shock as they scan me.

Am I shaking? I look down at my hands and realize... I have none. I’m... invisible—at least to myself. Before I can glance back at him, it all goes dark again.