Camille
Chapter 7: The Glade of Reflections
Camille explores the mysterious Glade of Reflections under the full moon. What she discovers there could change everything she knows about her magical paintings.
Reading difficulty
On the night of the full moon, Camille leaves her house with her box of magic paints.
Madame Rousseau will accompany him to the Clearing of Reflections.
They cross the forest. The trees cast strange shadows. "We're almost there," says Madame Rousseau in front of an arch formed by two large trees.
Camille enters the clearing. Moonlight shines everywhere. In the center, there is a round stone that shines.
Camille sets down her box and opens it. The tubes of paint gleam in the moonlight. She paints a blue butterfly in her sketchbook. The stone glows and a real butterfly appears! It flies across the clearing, its wings sparkling.
But the stone shines even brighter. It projects bizarre designs onto the trees. "These are messages from Augustin Lemerle," whispers Madame Rousseau.
Camille draws the symbols in her notebook. A word appears: "Heritage".
"Perhaps your paintings are a mission," said Madame Rousseau.
Camille thought about it. Why had she found these paintings? On her way home, she promised herself she would come back to find out.
Madame Rousseau will accompany him to the Clearing of Reflections.
They cross the forest. The trees cast strange shadows. "We're almost there," says Madame Rousseau in front of an arch formed by two large trees.
Camille enters the clearing. Moonlight shines everywhere. In the center, there is a round stone that shines.
Camille sets down her box and opens it. The tubes of paint gleam in the moonlight. She paints a blue butterfly in her sketchbook. The stone glows and a real butterfly appears! It flies across the clearing, its wings sparkling.
But the stone shines even brighter. It projects bizarre designs onto the trees. "These are messages from Augustin Lemerle," whispers Madame Rousseau.
Camille draws the symbols in her notebook. A word appears: "Heritage".
"Perhaps your paintings are a mission," said Madame Rousseau.
Camille thought about it. Why had she found these paintings? On her way home, she promised herself she would come back to find out.
On the night of the full moon, Camille sneaks out of her house with her box of magic paints clutched to her.
Her mother gave her permission to explore, but on one condition: she had to be accompanied. Madame Rousseau agreed to guide her to the famous Clearing of Reflections.
The old woman held a flashlight and walked ahead of Camille through the forest. The trees cast strange shadows on the path. Branches creaked under their feet. "We're almost there," said Madame Rousseau, stopping in front of a natural arch formed by two large trees.
Camille passes through the arch. What she discovers takes her breath away.
The clearing is bathed in silvery light. Moonbeams dance across the ground, creating reflections that ripple like waves. In the center lies a flat, round stone that gleams with a soft glow.
Camille approaches the stone and places her box beside it. She hesitates, then opens the lid. The tubes of paint, already luminous normally, shine even brighter in the moonlight. Camille decides to paint something to see if the clearing reacts to her magic.
She dips her brush in blue paint and draws a butterfly with vibrant wings in her sketchbook. As soon as she finishes the last stroke, a light bursts forth from the stone. A real butterfly, identical to the one she has just painted, appears in the clearing. It rises into the air, its wings shimmering in the moonlight. Camille watches it, amazed.
But suddenly, something unexpected happens. The light from the stone intensifies and projects strange patterns onto the trees. These patterns resemble inscriptions, like a forgotten language.
Madame Rousseau, who observes in silence, murmurs: "These are messages. Perhaps left by Augustin Lemerle himself."
Camille approaches the inscriptions with her notebook. She begins to draw them to remember them. Each stroke of the pencil reveals more details. Soon, a word forms among the symbols: "Heritage".
Madame Rousseau frowned. "Inheritance? Perhaps your paintings are more than just a gift, Camille. Perhaps they are a message, or even a mission."
Camille pondered. Why had she found these paintings in the attic? And why were they connected to this mysterious artist, Augustin Lemerle? The clearing still held many secrets, but Camille felt she was on the right track.
As she walked back home, Camille promised herself she would return to the clearing. She wanted to understand why she had been chosen to carry this legacy and what it meant.
Her mother gave her permission to explore, but on one condition: she had to be accompanied. Madame Rousseau agreed to guide her to the famous Clearing of Reflections.
The old woman held a flashlight and walked ahead of Camille through the forest. The trees cast strange shadows on the path. Branches creaked under their feet. "We're almost there," said Madame Rousseau, stopping in front of a natural arch formed by two large trees.
Camille passes through the arch. What she discovers takes her breath away.
The clearing is bathed in silvery light. Moonbeams dance across the ground, creating reflections that ripple like waves. In the center lies a flat, round stone that gleams with a soft glow.
Camille approaches the stone and places her box beside it. She hesitates, then opens the lid. The tubes of paint, already luminous normally, shine even brighter in the moonlight. Camille decides to paint something to see if the clearing reacts to her magic.
She dips her brush in blue paint and draws a butterfly with vibrant wings in her sketchbook. As soon as she finishes the last stroke, a light bursts forth from the stone. A real butterfly, identical to the one she has just painted, appears in the clearing. It rises into the air, its wings shimmering in the moonlight. Camille watches it, amazed.
But suddenly, something unexpected happens. The light from the stone intensifies and projects strange patterns onto the trees. These patterns resemble inscriptions, like a forgotten language.
Madame Rousseau, who observes in silence, murmurs: "These are messages. Perhaps left by Augustin Lemerle himself."
Camille approaches the inscriptions with her notebook. She begins to draw them to remember them. Each stroke of the pencil reveals more details. Soon, a word forms among the symbols: "Heritage".
Madame Rousseau frowned. "Inheritance? Perhaps your paintings are more than just a gift, Camille. Perhaps they are a message, or even a mission."
Camille pondered. Why had she found these paintings in the attic? And why were they connected to this mysterious artist, Augustin Lemerle? The clearing still held many secrets, but Camille felt she was on the right track.
As she walked back home, Camille promised herself she would return to the clearing. She wanted to understand why she had been chosen to carry this legacy and what it meant.
On the night of the full moon, Camille sneaks out of her house with her box of magic paints clutched tightly to her. The wood of the box is still warm under her fingers, as if it were retaining the heat of the attic where she found it.
Her mother, who knows she loves to draw by moonlight, allowed her to explore, but with one strict rule: she had to be accompanied. Luckily, Madame Rousseau, the neighbor who knows all the village stories, agreed to take her to the famous Clearing of Reflections.
The old woman, a flashlight in hand, guides Camille through the dense forest. The trees stand like silent giants, casting strange shadows that seem to move in the flickering light. The path is sometimes difficult to follow, hidden beneath dead leaves and protruding roots. The sound of their footsteps echoes in the silence of the night. "We're almost there," says Madame Rousseau, stopping before a natural arch formed by two large trees whose branches meet at the top.
Camille carefully crossed the arch. What she saw on the other side took her breath away.
The clearing is bathed in a silvery light that seems to come from everywhere at once. Moonbeams filter through the branches and dance across the mossy ground, creating vibrant reflections that ripple like waves on a lake's surface. The air itself feels different here, lighter, almost magical. In the center of the clearing lies a flat, round, smooth stone that shines with a soft, steady glow.
Camille approaches the stone reverently. She places her box beside it and remains motionless for a moment, contemplating the beauty of the place. Then she hesitates, places her hands on the lid of the box, and carefully opens it. The tubes of paint, usually luminous even in the dark, shine even brighter in the moonlight. Their colors seem almost alive, pulsing with a mysterious energy. Camille decides to paint something to see if the clearing responds to her magic.
She takes out her sketchbook and her favorite brush, the one with bristles so soft they feel like silk. She dips the brush in the blue paint, which is slightly sticky. Then, with precise strokes, she draws a butterfly in her sketchbook, its wings shimmering and adorned with delicate, lace-like patterns. She adds touches of white to make the wings shine, and finishes with antennae as thin as threads.
As soon as she makes the final stroke, a light bursts forth from the stone. The radiance is so intense that Camille has to close her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, a real butterfly, identical to the one she has just painted, is perched on the stone. It unfurls its wings, which are exactly as in the drawing, and rises into the air. It flies around Camille, its wings shimmering in the moonlight, casting tiny bursts of blue light. Camille reaches out, and the butterfly lands on her finger. She gazes at it, marveling at the softness of its wings and the magic she has just created.
But suddenly, something unexpected happens. The light from the stone intensifies further. It becomes almost blinding, then begins to project strange patterns onto the tree trunks surrounding the clearing. These patterns resemble ancient inscriptions, formed of curved lines and complex symbols. It looks like a forgotten language, a script no one has seen for centuries.
Madame Rousseau, who had been silently observing the scene from the edge of the clearing, approached slowly. She studied the inscriptions carefully, squinting to see better,and murmurs in a moved voice: "These are messages. Perhaps left by Augustin Lemerle himself. He was known for hiding secrets in his works."
Camille approaches the inscriptions, her notebook still in hand. She senses that these symbols are important, that they hold an answer to the questions she's been asking herself since finding the box. She begins to draw them carefully to remember them. Each stroke of the pencil reveals more details, as if simply reproducing them makes them clearer. The lines connect, the symbols organize themselves, and soon, a word forms among the inscriptions: "Heritage."
Madame Rousseau frowned and leaned forward to get a better look at Camille's sketchbook. "Inheritance?" she repeated. "Perhaps your paintings aren't just a gift, Camille. They could be a message, or even a mission. Perhaps Augustin Lemerle was looking for someone to continue his work."
Camille thought silently. Why would she have found these paintings in the attic of her new house? And why did they seem to be connected to that mysterious artist, Augustin Lemerle, who disappeared so long ago? The clearing still held many secrets, but deep down, Camille felt she was on the right path. That she had been chosen for something important.
The blue butterfly returned to land on her shoulder, as if to comfort her. Camille smiled and gently closed her notebook.
As they walk back home, silently along the now-familiar path, Camille promises herself she'll return to the clearing as soon as she can. She wants to understand why she was chosen to bear this mysterious legacy and what it truly means. She knows more adventures await her, and she's ready to face them.
Her mother, who knows she loves to draw by moonlight, allowed her to explore, but with one strict rule: she had to be accompanied. Luckily, Madame Rousseau, the neighbor who knows all the village stories, agreed to take her to the famous Clearing of Reflections.
The old woman, a flashlight in hand, guides Camille through the dense forest. The trees stand like silent giants, casting strange shadows that seem to move in the flickering light. The path is sometimes difficult to follow, hidden beneath dead leaves and protruding roots. The sound of their footsteps echoes in the silence of the night. "We're almost there," says Madame Rousseau, stopping before a natural arch formed by two large trees whose branches meet at the top.
Camille carefully crossed the arch. What she saw on the other side took her breath away.
The clearing is bathed in a silvery light that seems to come from everywhere at once. Moonbeams filter through the branches and dance across the mossy ground, creating vibrant reflections that ripple like waves on a lake's surface. The air itself feels different here, lighter, almost magical. In the center of the clearing lies a flat, round, smooth stone that shines with a soft, steady glow.
Camille approaches the stone reverently. She places her box beside it and remains motionless for a moment, contemplating the beauty of the place. Then she hesitates, places her hands on the lid of the box, and carefully opens it. The tubes of paint, usually luminous even in the dark, shine even brighter in the moonlight. Their colors seem almost alive, pulsing with a mysterious energy. Camille decides to paint something to see if the clearing responds to her magic.
She takes out her sketchbook and her favorite brush, the one with bristles so soft they feel like silk. She dips the brush in the blue paint, which is slightly sticky. Then, with precise strokes, she draws a butterfly in her sketchbook, its wings shimmering and adorned with delicate, lace-like patterns. She adds touches of white to make the wings shine, and finishes with antennae as thin as threads.
As soon as she makes the final stroke, a light bursts forth from the stone. The radiance is so intense that Camille has to close her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, a real butterfly, identical to the one she has just painted, is perched on the stone. It unfurls its wings, which are exactly as in the drawing, and rises into the air. It flies around Camille, its wings shimmering in the moonlight, casting tiny bursts of blue light. Camille reaches out, and the butterfly lands on her finger. She gazes at it, marveling at the softness of its wings and the magic she has just created.
But suddenly, something unexpected happens. The light from the stone intensifies further. It becomes almost blinding, then begins to project strange patterns onto the tree trunks surrounding the clearing. These patterns resemble ancient inscriptions, formed of curved lines and complex symbols. It looks like a forgotten language, a script no one has seen for centuries.
Madame Rousseau, who had been silently observing the scene from the edge of the clearing, approached slowly. She studied the inscriptions carefully, squinting to see better,and murmurs in a moved voice: "These are messages. Perhaps left by Augustin Lemerle himself. He was known for hiding secrets in his works."
Camille approaches the inscriptions, her notebook still in hand. She senses that these symbols are important, that they hold an answer to the questions she's been asking herself since finding the box. She begins to draw them carefully to remember them. Each stroke of the pencil reveals more details, as if simply reproducing them makes them clearer. The lines connect, the symbols organize themselves, and soon, a word forms among the inscriptions: "Heritage."
Madame Rousseau frowned and leaned forward to get a better look at Camille's sketchbook. "Inheritance?" she repeated. "Perhaps your paintings aren't just a gift, Camille. They could be a message, or even a mission. Perhaps Augustin Lemerle was looking for someone to continue his work."
Camille thought silently. Why would she have found these paintings in the attic of her new house? And why did they seem to be connected to that mysterious artist, Augustin Lemerle, who disappeared so long ago? The clearing still held many secrets, but deep down, Camille felt she was on the right path. That she had been chosen for something important.
The blue butterfly returned to land on her shoulder, as if to comfort her. Camille smiled and gently closed her notebook.
As they walk back home, silently along the now-familiar path, Camille promises herself she'll return to the clearing as soon as she can. She wants to understand why she was chosen to bear this mysterious legacy and what it truly means. She knows more adventures await her, and she's ready to face them.