As a child, Samantha discovered that her moods didn’t just affect her; they seemed to leave a tangible mark on the world around her. When she was bursting with joy, the flowers in their small garden would bloom with impossible vibrancy, their colors practically vibrating. When she was gripped by a fit of pre-teen despair, her charcoal sketches would darken the air in her room, and a chill would settle even on the warmest day. This made her feel like a walking storm, both powerful and terrifyingly out of control.

One blustery afternoon, Samantha, now twenty, stumbled into the Journal Store She was an artist, her canvases often reflected the tumultuous emotions she struggled to control. Her eyes immediately fixated on a journal bound in dark, swirling patterns, like a brewing storm. She bought it, feeling an inexplicable pull.

Back in her studio, Samantha opened the journal. The first blank page shimmered. As she sketched a furious charcoal drawing, lines of vibrant crimson began to bleed from the page, swirling and twisting like angry currents.

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