Rivienne blinked profusely.
Even though all the curtains were closed and the candles had worn out, she could be certain about the time passing the breakfast by hours. She was bewildered.
Has it already been a week?
The room was dipping in darkness, but the rays that struggled to come through the curtains lighted it up enough for her to see around. She was on the bed and did not remember how she got there from the piano stool. The half-empty wine bottle was still on the piano lid, and more surprisingly, she was covered with a blanket.
She rubbed her eyes.
'It happened again,'
She was sleeping.
She was sleeping for the first time after the accident.
Given the circumstances about what she was going to do, she hated to admit the reason. Releasing a deep breath, she sat on the bed, pushing back the locks on her face. When her eyes got used to the sudden brightness in the room, she saw the perfect figure of the stranger sitting across the room with crossed legs in a relaxed manner, sipping a tea and dazzling unlikely.
He did not look at her.
"… Morning"
She hated his smirk as she turned her eyes away.
Two days ago, he was a walking corpse with a thin, pale layer of skin and a useless temper suited for a starved wild animal. Unlike now, his fake black eyes did not glint. They looked like deep wells under the daylight on the other day.
On the first day, as it was not her fault but Madam Agatha's greed that led him there, she merely changed her wet clothes and took another bottle of wine, sitting on her imagined bar stool, minding her own business. Though she felt his gaze upon her back, she ignored him as if he did not exist in the first place.
After her drink, she took the brush that dipped in red colour and stood in front of the partly completed blood moon. She did not mind the stranger making himself home and taking one of her precious wines since she had to let go of that habit, one way or another.
He did not bother her. The stranger peacefully watched her stroking all over the canvas.
Time and silence could soothe the anger. Rivi guessed. At least for the other people.
"… You are unhappy," He talked to her for the first time. "Painter"
Her brush stopped midway as she slightly jumped out of her skin because of the unexpected raspy voice that came from behind her.
"… Pardon?" She glanced at him.
He walked towards the canvas and stood next to Rivienne.
The wrinkles on his forehead have disappeared. And a sneer has taken over his face.
She barely stopped her dropping jaw by tightening her lips. Even though the stranger was exhausted for some reason, his beauty did not. The sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and height were something she had never seen in one place. And the silver hair that pushed back made her ask only three words that she never hesitated to ask from someone else.
Yet she hesitated.
Somehow, she felt that he was satisfying his mysterious needs from her mysteriously.
Judging by his attire made with imported fabrics from the western region, the stitches made with silver threads, and his standing in this room were all screaming his nobility. She knew all the noble families and their roots. She had to learn them, but platinum hair was not to be found in any corner of her gifted or rather, cursed memory.
"It's overflowing with your sorrow, painter." He spoke. "You cannot see, and I can. What is it?"
He went back to his seat, swirling the wine glass.
She did not understand. The painting was a natural phenomenon that she witnessed a long time ago. The night was darker than ever, yet the moon was dripping blood. It was beautiful. She was merely copying that beauty without missing a single piece. There was no emotion of hers to show off in a blood moon.
She tilted her head, staring at the red.
"As I mentioned," She heard him saying. "When you favour something, it's hard to see the ugliness in there,"
"I don't favour-"
"And yet it's ugly. I can see that," He brought his eyes back to Rivi from the wine glass. "The outsider can see that,"
She stared at him with her thin lips parted and looked back at the canvas. There was nothing on her lips for her defence. Mirth danced in the stranger's eyes. "Then again, what is it?" He repeated.
"Oh! Well…" Though her pride was hurt, she muttered, tangling her fingers around the brush and still looking at the canvas. "I'm going to get married," She slowly spoke. "I have to stop painting,"
"And why is that?"
"I can continue it as a hobby, but… I breathed through painting until now. I have to stop breathing,"
He did not respond as Rivienne turned her head to meet his widened eyes. Then his laughter burst out. "That was your concern?" He asked in the middle of laughing. "Oh dear! You must be a very sensitive painter. Aren't you thinking of dying because of that? Haha!"
How in the hell did he know?
Rivi wondered. And his ugly laugh did not stop.
She snapped instantly. "You!... As a man, you must be having a great life without shedding a drop of sweat, and here I am holding a brush where a world that believes a brush needs Adam's apple to move, "Rivienne hissed at him.
"Calm down, lady," He wiped a tear and flattened her laugh. "I wasn't talking about that. What matters is you still holding a brush, and it is still ugly. Is it not?"
He asked, "Care for... an alter?"
She scoffed. After all, who is this man artistic enough to advise the best painter in the Vassilios Empire? "Oh! Please!"
"Lie down on the bed,"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, painter, Now!"