"Would you like to hear an interesting tale?" I ask softly to the individual before me within the antique store.

"Well, I don't see why not so.. sure!" The individual says in return as I smile at their excited gaze.

"It's a story of fate's cruelty and irony, of how desperation, love, and madness intertwined to create a tale worth recounting."

Allow me to guide you through the lives of two unfortunate souls who society cast away, yet whose union bore fruit far stranger than most would dare imagine.

Their daughter, born of such circumstances, became the enigmatic lady of the antique store by the graveyard.

But let us start at the beginning.

To her origin.

There was a man, Lamontre Lunaire, a master of his craft. An artistic painter whose works graced the walls of the world's finest galleries.

His art spoke of beauty, anguish, and the human spirit, yet his own existence was a far cry from the perfection he created.

Lamontre suffered from lupus, a relentless illness that ravaged his body and marked him as "defected" among noble society.

Whispers of pity and disdain followed him, tarnishing his reputation despite his genius.

To the world, he was a man destined to burn brightly and fade too soon, a tragic symbol of wasted potential.

One fateful evening, as his latest gallery opened, his weary gaze was drawn to a woman lingering before one of his pieces.

Her presence was magnetic, her beauty commanding the attention of all who saw her.

She spoke of his work with eloquence, praising its depth and declaring it a masterpiece worthy of admiration and preservation.

Her words stirred something within him, a yearning he had long buried beneath the weight of his illness.

She was Blanc Bleulet, a noblewoman of the illustrious Bleulet bloodline.

Beneath her radiant exterior, however, lay a life marred by tragedy. Widowed young, she had suffered the heartbreak of a miscarriage after her husband's untimely death.

Society's judgment weighed heavily upon her, branding her as a woman whose beauty masked misfortune.

To those around her, she was no more than a symbol of sorrow, desirable to some but irreparably "used" in the eyes of others.

Their meeting felt inevitable, for the desperate often find themselves drawn to one another.

In Blanc, Lamontre saw not just a muse but a kindred spirit, a reminder of fleeting beauty in a world that had cast him aside.

She, in turn, found solace in his art and in the quiet reverence he seemed to hold for her.

But while Lamontre's admiration was pure, Blanc's motives were tainted by darker intentions.

Her past had taught her that love was a commodity, a transaction dictated by wealth and status.

She had come to believe that her worth lay not in her heart but in what she could secure for herself.

Lamontre was not just a man to her, he was an opportunity. His talent, his fame, and the fortune it could bring became her focus.

Despite knowing of his lupus, she dismissed it as a minor obstacle compared to the rewards his name could provide.

Blanc's poisoned vision drove her to actions that would shatter any illusion of innocence.

She began to seduce Lamontre, whose gentle soul made him vulnerable to her advances. He did not see her as a widow or a woman marked by misfortune.

No, to him, she was a beacon of beauty and strength.

And that only made her efforts harder to resist.

Lamontre's kindness and self-awareness urged him to distance himself. He feared the intensity of his feelings, knowing that his fleeting life could offer her nothing but heartache.

Blanc, however, would not accept rejection.

Her desperation pushed her to a choice that crossed every moral line.

One night, she drugged Lamontre to ensure he could no longer resist her. In her mind, it was not betrayal but survival.

That night, she took what she believed was hers, a future entwined with his and the child that would now grow within her.

She knew that Lamontre's kindness would bind him to her, that he would never abandon her or their child.

In that act, Blanc sealed both their fates.

What began as a connection born of shared pain became something far darker, a union forged in desperation and bound by love twisted into madness.

Soon after, Raven Lunaire, a child born from desperation and madness, possess a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly.

Raven inherited a raven-black hair that completely mirrored Lamontre's.

And her amethyst eyes a signature trait of the Lunaire bloodline, a haunting, luminous shade that seemed to see into the very soul.

In addition, her fair skin and delicate features echoed her mother, Blanc, so closely that at a young age, Raven was often mistaken as her mother's reflection.

To Lamontre, Raven was more than just their daughter, she was their greatest masterpiece, a living testament to the artistry he once believed in.

From the moment she could walk, Raven was quiet and observant, preferring the stillness of her father's studio to the noise of the world beyond.

She adored Lamontre's gentle presence but followed her mother's commands with unwavering obedience.

Blanc, though distant, instructed Raven with cryptic advice, urging her to always chase what she wanted.

When Raven asked why, her mother would smile faintly and reply.

"Because that's how you came to be."

However, any semblance of peace within their household began to wither as Lamontre's artistic spark dimmed.

His illness worsened, and inspiration eluded him.

The muse he once saw in Blanc had faded, and with it, his ability to create the masterpieces that had once immortalized his name.

This artistic drought gnawed at him, but it gnawed even harder at Blanc.

To her, Lamontre's genius had always been the key to their survival, and the idea of him failing was another cruel reminder of the misfortune that she believed stalked her life.

Blanc's patience gave way to threats. She warned Lamontre she would leave him, abandon him and their daughter if he couldn't reclaim his former brilliance.

Desperate and broken, Lamontre begged her to stay. He promised he would create again, would be better, would make her proud once more.

But his pleading only emboldened Blanc, giving her the upper hand to control him.

She tightened her grip on him, failing to see the cracks forming in her once docile husband.

When pushed to the brink, Lamontre's art began to change.

What once captured the beauty of life now spiraled into grotesque depictions of anguish, twisted forms, and haunting madness.

His paintings reflected his torment, his shattered heart, and the depths of his mind, now poisoned by the years of manipulation and grief.

When Blanc saw these new works, she recoiled in disgust.

"Hideous."

She spat, her disdain like a dagger to his heart.

Lamontre's resolve, already fragile, finally shattered. For the first time, his gentle demeanor gave way to fury.

He turned on Blanc, his voice trembling with rage as he accused her of her past deeds.

He called her out for the lies, the manipulation, and the cruelty she had inflicted upon him.

"Do you know what a real masterpiece is, Blanc?"

He snarled, his amethyst eyes blazing with a fire she had never seen before.

"You."

"Shall I tell the world what the real Blanc Bleulet truly is?"

Blanc, for all her bravado, was unprepared for Lamontre's wrath. For the first time, she felt fear, not just for what he might do but, for what society would say if her carefully crafted facade was shattered.

The resentment and terror she now felt in her own home drove her to a breaking point.

She no longer argued, abandoning Lamontre to raise their own daughter.

Though his health continued to decline, he poured his remaining strength into his daughter, teaching her his love for art and the truths of the world as he saw them.

To Lamontre, Raven became his one true muse.

She watched him with wide, curious eyes as he painted, his grotesque artworks no longer something to fear but to revere.

Lamontre called her his most devoted loved one, the child who would carry his legacy forward.

And as she grew, Raven began to find her own fascination with the beauty of her father's work.

Blanc's retreat into isolation drive her to madness.

While being away from the eyes of society, her mind unraveled, haunted by the memories of her life with Lamontre.

She couldn't escape his presence, even in solitude.

Raven's resemblance to Lamontre, her raven-black hair, her quiet demeanor, but most damning of all, her piercing amethyst eyes.

Those eyes burned into her soul, a constant reminder of the man she once controlled but could no longer bend to her will.

Raven's innocence was lost on Blanc, all she could see was a mirror of her failures, of her misfortune.

To Blanc, her daughter was no longer a blessing but a curse.

When Raven visited her mother, concern etched into her young face, she was met not with warmth but with disdain.

Blanc's eyes were wild, her frame trembling as she looked at her daughter.

"You.."

She hissed, her voice trembling with desperation and disgust.

"You are the greatest misfortune of my life."

Raven froze, unsure how to respond to her mother's sudden vitriol.

"Mother, I only came to check on you."

She said softly, taking a step closer.

But Blanc's madness had consumed her entirely. Her trembling hand reached for a pair of scissors she had once used to trim Raven's hair, their blades dull with age but still sharp enough for harm.

She clutched them tightly, her knuckles white, and fixed her gaze on Raven's eyes, the amethyst eyes that tormented her.

"You took everything from me!"

Blanc screamed, her voice echoing through the empty house. "Your father, your existence.. they ruined me!"

Before Raven could react, Blanc lunged, aiming the scissors directly at her daughter's eyes, desperate to rid herself of the gaze that haunted her.

Fortunately, the commotion drew Lamontre from the living room.

His heart raced as he burst into the room, just in time to intervene.

In a frenzy, he shielded Raven from Blanc's attack. The scissors, meant for Raven, grazed her left eye but did irreparable damage, leaving her screaming in pain.

Lamontre fought to wrest the weapon from Blanc's hands, his fury and desperation surging as he subdued his wife.

As Raven clutched her injured eye, blood staining her pale skin, Lamontre's mind worked in ways that defied conventional reasoning.

To him, this was not only a tragedy but an opportunity, an opportunity to preserve his daughter's beauty in a way that no other artist could.

In the days that followed, Lamontre poured his energy into creating something extraordinary. Drawing upon his knowledge of anatomy, mechanics, and art, he crafted an artificial eye for Raven.

A silver sphere that gleamed like the lunar moon, an iconic symbol of the Lunaire family.

The lunar moon necklace.

When the work was complete, Lamontre presented the eye to Raven, his hands trembling as he placed it in her socket.

The silver eye shimmered, its beauty both haunting and mesmerizing.

"This.." he whispered to his daughter.

"Is truly.. my greatest masterpiece yet."

Though the artificial eye made Raven less alienated to see, this also became a symbol of something darker.

To Blanc, it was proof of Lamontre's madness.

A madness that had led him to perform such a grotesque act with skill that frightened her. The silver eye shone brightly, but it only deepened Blanc's fear and hatred.

Blanc's despair turned to fury, her resentment spilling out in a torrent of curses and accusations against Lamontre.

But Lamontre was no longer the broken man she had once dominated. He had reclaimed his power, and with it, a chilling resolve.

Blanc became unbearable, and Lamontre, unwilling to let her chaos destroy what remained of his family, made a decision.

One night, as her rage echoed through their home, he led her to his studio basement, locking her away.

The heavy door shut with finality, muffling Blanc's screams and curses.

She pounded on the walls, her voice raw with anger and despair, but Lamontre paid no heed. To him, it was necessary, a sacrifice for the sake of his daughter and his art.

Blanc's screams grew weaker over time.

The fire of her fury dimmed into pitiful sobs, her body frail and trembling as days passed in the dim confines of the basement.

When Raven visited her mother for what would be the last time, she found her crawling on the floor. Her once pristine hands, now bruised and dirty, reached out like the fragile legs of an insect too weak to escape its doom. 

For a moment, Raven simply stared. She didn't see disgust or hatred in her mother's state, only pity.

There was something achingly human in the way Blanc clung to her shattered pride, reduced to a desperate shell of the woman she once was. 

This time, her desperation wasn't masked by anger or bitterness. Instead, she begged. 

"Raven.."

Blanc whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.

"Take me away from here. No.. Run away with me. We can start over. I'll give you everything you deserve.. all the love, all the happiness you want. Just end it! Please.. Kill your father, and we'll be free."

Raven froze.

The plea was unexpected, and for a moment, it disarmed her. She stood still, her breath shallow as she studied her mother's face.

Those sapphire eyes shimmered with something beautiful and tragic, a glimmer of a woman who had once been strong, desired, and adored.

The gaze of her mother's desperate, deranged expression planted something deep within Raven.

Her mother's sapphire eyes were beautiful.

Very beautiful.

But it wasn't enough to only see it for that moment alone.

She wants to see it more.

To keep that gaze of her mother.

That beauty.

To preverse it.

Therefore Blanc's words rang hollow against Lamontre's influence, his teachings, and his vision of art.

Blanc's lies were in vain when Raven turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable as Lamontre emerged from the shadows.

He stood tall and unyielding, his presence overwhelming the dim room. His voice was calm, laced with a kind of fatherly pride that sent a chill down Blanc's spine. 

"She's already chosen.."

Lamontre said softly, looking at Raven with approval.

"Raven understands what must be done. She sees the art in this, in you, Blanc."

Blanc's breath caught as she stared at her daughter, the realization dawning like a sharp blade pressed to her throat.

Raven stepped closer, her silver eye gleaming in the dim light, an ethereal contrast to the amethyst that mirrored her father.

"You're beautiful, Mom."

Raven murmured, kneeling before her mother. Her voice was soft, almost tender.

"Your eyes.. I want to remember them, just like this. Not like before."

Blanc's heart pounded as she tried to scramble backward, but her weakened body refused to obey.

She shook her head violently, tears spilling down her face.

"No.. no, Raven, please. I'm your mother!"

Lamontre silenced her with a single glance, his hand resting lightly on Raven's shoulder.

"Go ahead, my little Raven."

Lamontre said.

"This is your masterpiece."

Raven hesitated only for a moment, the memory of her mother's earlier gaze flickering in her mind.

Then, with steady hands, she took the tools Lamontre offered her. The act wasn't one of malice or hatred.

To Raven, it was an act of devotion. A way to preserve what little beauty her mother had left, to freeze that fleeting moment of humanity in a form that could never fade. 

Blanc's screams echoed through the house, then fell silent. 

When it was done, Lamontre and Raven stood together, gazing at their work. Blanc's lifeless body lay still, her once-beautiful face pale but peaceful.

Her sapphire eyes were gone, replaced by empty sockets that spoke of a story far darker than any words could convey. 

Lamontre placed the extracted eyes carefully into a glass jar, preserving them as Raven had requested.

"Your mother's gaze will remain eternal."

Lamontre said, placing the jar in his studio, where it caught the faintest light.

Raven stared at the jar for a long time, the weight of her actions pressing against her chest.

Yet she felt no regret.

Only a strange, quiet satisfaction.

The beauty she had preserved was undeniable, and the idea of preserving more would soon consume her. 

The lines between art and madness blurred further for both Lamontre and Raven.

Years passed, and Lamontre's health failed him. The lupus that had slowly consumed him left him bedridden, no longer able to create the art that had once defined him.

That fateful night, Lamontre called Raven to his side. His voice, weak but steady, met her ears.

"Raven..."

Lamontre whispered, locking his amethyst eyes with hers.

"When my time comes, promise me one thing."

She knelt beside him, her hands holding his cold ones.

"Anything, Father."

"Take my eyes. Preserve them, like we did with your mother's. I want to see the world through you."

Without hesitation, Raven agreed.

It was an act of love, his final gift to her.

When Lamontre passed, Raven kept her promise.

His amethyst eyes were carefully placed in a glass jar, alongside Blanc's sapphire ones. They sat on a shelf in her new home, a quiet antique shop near the graveyard where her parents rested.

The townspeople spoke of the Lunaire family in whispers of mystery.

Few knew the truth behind their oddities. To outsiders, Lamontre's and Blanc's eyes had been replaced by lifelike artificial ones after their deaths.

But those who stepped into Raven's shop always left with an unease.

"So.. did it spook you?" I ask the individual as they continue to smile and look around the antique store.

"It isn't all that scary, it's.. more tragic than frightening. But, the tale itself could've probably been avoided if the couple didn't have such a rough history."

"Perhaps their history is what's at fault or perhaps it's their actions moving forward. But, I am glad to tell the tale."

"Hehe, thank you for telling it to me. It really makes it worth coming here. Hmm?"

"Did something finally caught your attention? This antique store has everything from the rich furnitures to the wondrous treasures of a well known wealthy family."

"I think I do! I'd love to get this."

"Ah, this painting? My, my.. you sure have an eye for things, dear customer."

The silver-and-amethyst gaze seemed to pierce through the individual admiring the painting before them.

But as Raven smiles, she takes the blade hidden under a special box placed underneath her desk.

A blade from her father's legacy.

Raven smiles as she takes a step forward, and within the antique store, only she remains.

Her.

The keeper of beauty born from tragedy.

FIN.