The darkness that had taken over the basement for hundreds of years was defeated by the fire in her hand as two servants holding the portrait followed her with confused looks on their faces. Their master had swollen eyes when she was someone who didn't shed a tear at the funeral of her brother, the war hero who was going to turn into a flesh-eating demon.
The dust went through their nose trails, making them cough and sneeze. 'Why go through all the troubles?' Their faces shouted.
Rose stopped near the empty wall and sighed, looking back at the portrait.
My Dear Circe,
It was all yours, Jewels, roses, dresses, maids, servants, crossbows, and the melted icy heart of his. You were born for his love. He sure loved you more than anything in the world. You were blessed with all the love in the world you deserved. Even I loved you, though you never have seen me.
How sweet it was at that time back there in my home.
We both have walked far away from where we were. I am here, and you have left behind all the love you had.
I do not know if this would be good news for you, but hearing about your temperament, I assume you would curse at me with every word you learnt from his highness and kiss me with your warm heart. The people you loved, the people you left behind are not many now. Your brothers are dead. My brother is dead. Sir Xavier and his highness are forgetting you.
He will forget you entirely. That is his curse and my redemption.
After all, dreams are forgetful. I know some are not.
You are my dream that I never dreamt, and I will never forget you. I am going to bury your only reminiscence here in this dark, dirty basement you feared the most. Forgive me for that. I need to protect him. Your love and my love.
I know you do not resent him for everything he had done to you. It was not your fault, neither his highness, yet I wish you to hate him. Because I love him. I must be the only person that loves him.
I will protect him from your shadow and be the strength he lost. Finally, I apologize once again and thank you for not dreaming anymore. Thank you for dying before me.
With love
Rosewyn.
Tear droplets fell on the letters, blurring the ink as she cried loudly. Her maid had no idea about the sudden change of her master as she hugged and patted.
Rose buried her face in the maid's embrace and let out all the sorrow she was hiding beneath the smile. She apologized over and over again. Rose didn't even have a proper look at the portrait, yet it was already hunting her. She rearranged the garden and changed all the paintings in the castle.
It doesn't matter now. It was a new beginning, and the dead should not take over the living.
******
The aesthete should look through a blood-dripping hollow in the broken wall of the glasshouse. The fountain was destroyed as its pieces had fallen over the rose bushes. Roses had crushed without mercy. A tiny turn shoe lay on the lonely space next to the woman.
The woman was sitting on the ground wearing a large gown. Her hands covered her ears, her mouth opened, and her eyes were out of their sockets. Her facial expressions were responding to the growing flames around her.
The entire painting ends with the colours of black, white and ash, except for the crimson flames that wrap the woman.
The silence was blaring enough to make a loud sound when a droplet of blood fell into the wine glass, meeting the rest of the woman's blood. The prince's eyes, which darkened their shade right after unveiling the painting, glanced at the filled wine glass.
If it were another time, the Rose would plant herself at his feet, rest her head on his lap, and let him run his fingers through her sable hair. But not this time. Not when he was being the death himself for whomever he saw within the painting. She stepped back and walked toward the bed without making any noise.
His legs were crossed. One arm helped his temple while the other was swirling the wine glass, which did not contain wine. Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that covered his well-built body and black trousers, he looked relaxed, yet a storm stirred inside him.
He leaned back, locking his eyes with the blood, and a frown barely appeared on his forehead, curtained with bangs of his silver hair.
"Who is it?" Finally, he awakened his voice that hid the storm.
Sir Cain did not think twice and answered right away. "Juliano Helicon, age unknown, appearance unknown, spouse unknown, and turns out to be a former translator in the empire's army," Though it was not that accurate, it was all he could find about this annoying prick.
Until an hour ago, the prince was a huge fan of this mysterious painter who flamed the capital. He entertained himself with the painter's way of revealing the forbidden bonds between men and women in high society and the cunning plans for power thirst. He accepted the painter as a dear fellow interested in the same subject.
Sir Cain was paralyzed after seeing the painting "Woman on Fire" as it stabbed in an untouchable place in the prince's heart. But he bought it because leaving it would make another path for chaos.
The purpose of the painting was suspicious as the prince has not done anything regarding the upcoming crisis or the painter's plotting … not yet.
"Unknown…" The prince murmured.
Cain knew it was now or never.
He took out the envelope in the inner pockets of the coat and silently handed it over to Ezra. He glanced at the silver swirls on the blue background.