Prophecy of the Palette

The art studio at St. Jude's University always smelled of turpentine, old wood, and crushed dreams, but today, it smelled entirely of autumn. The large paneled windows were thrown open, inviting in the crisp October breeze and framing a picturesque view of the campus green. Golden and crimson leaves drifted past the stone façade of the main hall, but Maya wasn't looking outside. Her entire world was currently reduced to a three-by-four canvas and the wooden palette resting heavily in her left hand.