In the attic

Tyler is efficient and brisk, moving the heavy boxes of holiday decorations and old files with a grunt of effort. Kenzie, however, stands perfectly still in the center of the room, her sketchbook clutched to her chest. She isn't looking at the clutter; she’s looking at the voids.

You step into her perception, acting as the muse she has labeled you. You don't just show her the room; you show her the time.

You manipulate the shadows, making them race across the floorboards as if the sun were moving at a hundred times its normal speed. You show her how the slats in the shutters will create a rhythmic, zebra-stripe pattern across a model's skin at 2:00 PM—the exact time of the shoot. You nudge her toward a heavy, high-backed Victorian chair buried under a yellowed sheet. The way the fabric clings to the wood looks like a shroud... or a wedding dress.

It’s perfect. The light... it’s like a cage made of gold. If we put Chloe in the chair and let the sheet drape over her legs, she won't look like my sister. She’ll look like a ghost. Like a secret the house is trying to keep. I can feel him... he’s showing me exactly where to stand. He wants this to be beautiful. He wants it to be... ours.

“Alright, Ken,” Tyler says, wiping a smear of dust from his forehead. He’s finished moving the last of the bulky storage units to the far corner. “The space is clear. I’m heading down to check the server logs. You okay up here by yourself?”

Kenzie nods, her eyes glazed with a creative fever. “Yeah. I just... I want to sit with the light for a while. Get the angles right.”

Tyler shrugs, his smirk widening. He knows the energy of this room is doing something to his younger sister, but he’s too focused on his own power to care. He descends the stairs, the door clicking shut behind him.