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Cassiopeia, the Night Princess’ most trusted maid, breaks from her duties to paint in the town square. She traipses under a dove-white moon, searching for inspiration. She carries her jolly supplies thought- fully in a beautiful hand-woven basket crafted hers truly. Peachy ribbons flow from the dogwood handles matching her flaming hair. Her dress cascades pink tones, drawing to the blush petals nestled gently in her hair.
She looks as a sunset cloud floating aimlessly through the moonlight square. Patrons laugh and loiter, a mirthful spirit enveloping the kingdom. She catches the eye of Prince Terrance as she strolls by and bows generously, not at all ceasing her flow. The Nightlings move romantically as if they are dancing- it is truly a captivating sight. A handsome Nightling offers her a rose colored of snow and peppers her hand with a ginger peck.
“You are but a sunset sky, one that dilapidates to reveal a miraculous twilight constellation.”
The maid blushes as she accepts the pure flower, gazing softly into his glimmering eyes, five stars glimmering deep inside. She pulls him in a passionate kiss, snaking slender arms around his neck, caressing his hair. She breaks the kiss and saunters on, ribbons flying by.
Young patrons reel in the streets, ostensibly tipsy at the crack of night. Owls tongue billows in the air, fireflies dappling all that lie there.
“My goodness,” speaks the maid, “In this night so miridical, where possibly might I find a thing so winsome?” She wanders to a more secluded fragment of town, finding relief from carrying her supplies, as they are rather heavy. She heads to a wild accumulation of berry plants to crush paints until finally, she is smote with a stroke of inspiration: there, snoozing at the fountain ledge, lies the most beautiful boy she had ever spied.
She approaches the scene to find her muse is none other than Ferocio, the kingdom’s most beloved -and feared aristocrat. She cant help but gasp; Ferocio, though so cruel and abhorrent, is undeniably captivating- the two swirling in tandem to create the most alluring motif. The maid, as if in a dreamy haze unbeknownst to the world around her, commences her artistry, passionate and lackadaisical.
She sketches the fountain’s frame the glacouse stone swimming with smooth flowing features, those that enhance the beauty lying there, her fingers dance along the canvas, drawing the willow trees, graceful like his voice and the berry plants, prickly like his scathing evildoings. She outlines his body and the way it falls. His face tilts ever so slightly to the right, facing the awestruck painter determined to capture every intimate feature of her unconscious sitter- especially the way his lips part as if leaning into an intoxicating kiss. She licks hers surreptitiously.
Her hands, deft and articulate, transition to the oil paints mapped accordingly on a dogwood palate she’d carved herself. The colors are a dove’s ginger touch, easy and pleasing to the eye. They showcase the naturally tasteful hues of the Kingdom’s flora in a humble manner, the colors melt into each other She flourishes her paintbrush, swelling life into the monochrome masterpiece before her.
A gentle breeze rustles the world around her ever so often, the maid capturing the sway of the leaves and the trees. She cannot avert her eyes once she spies how it tickles his hair. The intimacy leaves her transfixed. She watches with genial eyes the tips of his hair, pointed in a halo around his head like a crown, and his it dances. His garments animate as well, the gentle laughter of the breeze fortunately not disrupting his slumber. Drowning in affection for the boy, she forgets how menacing he may be.
She revels formulating the mixture of hues that is his skin, drinking in every detail of a complexion so rich and alive in the moonlight. His lips she reveres, colored as if flooded by a rush of blood when bitten. At this, she is smitten. She envisions the brush’s soft bristles as lips her own, painting his as they kiss, tender and delicate. The raindrop tip strokes the length of his bottom lip- this time her tongue.
With a soft swoon, she moves to his garments- vivid, velvet, and vermillion. It is a regal texture to portray, as she does so pleasant dapples of blood-red shades. She speculates for a moment why he wields these colors ever-so often. The thought that it compliments his sinister behavior crosses her mind and suddenly she recalls his wrongdoings, why he is deemed the most threatening Nightling among the youth.
As she lovingly paints his chest, she revels the intimacy that comes with watching it rise and fall. She melts.
“Gorgeous is he…” she speaks with words heard only to her ear, “That any maiden beholding his smile be the muse of my jealousy. Any berry lucky to touch his lips, naked trees privileged to hold him. I envy the shade bestowed the honor to gallantly protect my love from the scorching sun.”
Her voice is soothing as the picture before her, the colors blend effortlessly, the lighting impeccable, the mood soothing. What makes the masterpiece astounding is how it captures the purity of a devious being. A subject one can adore as he is still and not wavering about. It is the Kingdom’s most beloved and feared Nightling, intimate and vulnerable for all to see. Like writing the last pages of a novel, she concludes her masterpiece by painting the dreamy starlight haze her and others seem to see when in his presence.
The artist breathes a sigh of belief as she signs her painting, dressing a leaflet in beautiful white calligraphy. At last she has finished without catching the eye of her sitter. She grants her paintbrush a rest and stretches her arm, so reasonably tensed through her session. At this, she swears se hears something shift, painfully followed by a weary moan. She has been caught! She cringes behind the easel to keep from sight but to no avail, Ferocio stands before her and she needs not look at his face to know he is incredibly unhappy.
Though he has yet to see, he knows what she painted and feels violated. He stands above her, crossing his arms, his expression sour. Cassiopeia has never experienced such proximity to the prodigy, and feels as prey in the eye of the predator. Her heart beat races.
He stares at her with eyes that hiss, holding her gaze for an intense, breathtaking moment, and turns to regard his portrait. She cannot see with satisfaction how his eyes gleam with astonishment upon first glance, how the slither about the portrait of the painting, and how captured he lies in her dreamy depiction. He marvels at how strangely amatory his lips were painted and smirks.
He returns her gaze, “Your love is foolish, one which brings forth art from the heavens.” His hand rests on the easel, “Do tell, your plans for this painting.”
Cassiopeia knows not her response, staring back with eyes, perturbed.
He directs his gaze to her lips, remembering the fashion she painted his.
“I see I have inspired you,” He continues, “I guess that is what happens when you’re a legendary prodigy like me.” He lifts his chin, and shoots a dashing wink at the maid. “It seems I cannot simply doze off without attracting an admirer.”
The maid blushes, one she cannot tell is from flattery or desire. With him in her presence, it feels as if her painting came to life- the details moving, his lips animating, and his eyes, those she discovers are not brown, but a morose shade that reminds her of dried blood.
“Why thank you,” she replies, a gentle breeze whirling the ribbons of her dress. The mood is tense with romance, the attraction between the two aflame. They chat softly, his lips parting as his painting. He is so impotently alluring, his eyes daggers that slay the hearts of maids.
“Cassiopeia…”
He moans achingly, approaching the mesmerized maid. He bends to his level, sultry and rich. Their proximity is breathtaking.
“Oh how you spoil me.”
He pulls her into his lips intoxicating the artist already so tipsy with desire. His lips feel delicate and tender as she had painted, His hand cups her cheek, her roam about his umber hair. She wishes never to cease, for this kiss is bliss stolen from the heavens.
“Be it his star-born gift…” she realizes, “And its taste, sweet on my tongue,”
He parts the kiss, watching her body relax, dreamy eyes gazing back. His lover’s gaze distorts to a wicked sneer.
“Now I shall spoil you.”
In a breath, he strikes the easel to send paint splattering upon the maid. She gasps, wrest from her enchantment. Heart-sunken, she looks upon the havoc Ferocio wrought and before she could meet his eye, he has dismissed. He turns to her, walking backwards to pierce the maid with one last flagicious, cloying stare, and disappears.
Moments later, she collects herself to rinse in the fountain. Though she is able to wash away the paint and salvage the portrait, the guilt of falling fain to Ferocio’s romantic snare shall never be cleansed.
