Mara Cole hadn’t set foot in Hollowspire Cove in over a decade. Yet, here she was, standing at the edge of the cliffs, the wind clawing at her coat. Below, the sea raged against the jagged rocks, whispering secrets only the waves could keep.
The lighthouse loomed behind her, a silent ghost watching over the town. It had once been her mother’s sanctuary. Now, it was just another haunted place.
She stepped inside. The air was thick with salt and memories. Dust-coated books lined the shelves, but one thing wasn’t abandoned—an old paintbrush, dipped in seawater, resting on a table.
Mara reached out.
A voice broke the silence. “Finish the mural.”
She spun around. In the dim glow of the lanterns stood Elias, a reclusive artist, his eyes shadowed with grief. He had loved her mother once. Maybe still did.
She turned to the walls, where unfinished strokes curled like frozen waves. Without knowing why, she picked up the brush.
The bristles met the surface, and the sea outside shifted.
As Mara painted, the tides obeyed her colors—calm blues, rushing silvers. But when she dipped into a deep, stormy violet, the horizon twisted. The ocean swelled, waves clawing at the shore. Something was waking beneath the bay.
Then, the wreckage surfaced. A ship’s skeleton. And inside it, a real one.
Mara stumbled back, the brush clattering to the floor. The town gathered at the docks, faces pale as they stared at the unearthed bones.
Elias exhaled, his voice heavy. “She did this.”
He told her the truth. Her mother had wielded the brush’s power before—cursed the sea to pull a rival’s boat beneath the waves. The town had suffered for it ever since.
Mara’s fingers curled around the brush. It felt heavier now. Not an artist’s tool, but a weight of guilt and magic.
Tears blurred her vision as she lifted it once more. This time, she painted a sunrise. The colors blended like forgiveness, soft golds and warm corals washing over the storm’s scars.
The ocean sighed. The waves smoothed. And the bones in the bay dissolved into foam.
When Mara turned, Elias was gone.
The tide carried him away, or maybe he had never truly been there at all.
At dawn, Mara stood at the cliff’s edge one last time. She opened her mother’s urn and let the ashes drift into the horizon she had painted—a sunrise born from sorrow, but glowing with peace.