"Where does it all come from?", I asked Dye. He paused longer than usual. He looked small, almost subservient. His eyes softened, giving me his best Brando. He leaned over and answered, "The High Masters." His voice sounded archaic. I didn't want to lose the moment. I tried to harmonize with his tone, "are we constantly in their way?" He smiled, "constantly." He took out a canvas and a few jars of paint. I watched him close his eyes as his brush touched the canvas. With quick and sudden movements he began building a structure. It reminded me of making sandcastles as a child. I cursed the sea for destroying my worlds. My walls were never high enough, strong enough, and crumbled easily. Almost too easy, like the sand and the sea were both in on something. - Trust no one.
Dye reached the top of the canvas with this brown structure. This structure had balance, purpose, and leaned slightly towards feminine. This piece was beautiful. Suddle hints of green and yellow highlighted the architectural meditation. This painting was for a higher self. The pink was strong enough to keep the leaning structure rigid and upright. The blue scratches weighted the pink down keeping it centered. The blue circle wrapped back around moving the eye back down to the middle of the canvas. I had to see it closer. The sheen was teasing me against the soft light. Wizard blurted out, "Remarkable! Dye you've painted the blueprint to the Broken Castle. Well done, sir!"
I stood there in my confusion. I walked closer to the piece. I knew it was more than a blueprint. The brown was intentional against the sand. The traces of black was enough to make the brown that much more critical. The pencil lines were too perfectly clumsy and childish. I walked over to Dye, "I thought the piece was from The High Masters, I thought it was representing the higher self. It's a castle?" Dye winked, "We are constantly in the way."