Marianne could hardly imagine herself here had it been the beginning of the year.
Under the hazy canvas that is the sunset sky, Marianne held her brush steadily and took a deep breath. The air was cool and fresh, mixed with the scent of rain and grass. The petrichor was pleasant to her, enabling her to focus on her painting. She began her first stroke, azure paint covering the lines of her pencil sketches. She lifted her eyes from time to time to examine her subject: a simple marble fountain in the center of fields, likely once constructed for decorative purposes. However, now it only served little bluebirds as their playground and bathhouse. She could see the monastery situated on the great hill behind the fountain and the busying town from beyond her canvas' easel.
Besides her, Ignatz worked studiously. He had introduced her to this place around a month ago when he led her with gentle artisan hands to surprise her with the sight of the town aglow from sunset. Her heart fluttered at the memory. Ever since then, he had been inviting her on multiple occasions to draw with him. He knew how much she liked handling animals and how much the sight of seeing them pleased her. Truthfully, he wanted to see her smile, which in his mind, was both as tender and radiant as the morning-light.
Marianne always wanted to go, but her doubts had held her back. After sharing her worries with him, Ignatz assuaged her insecurities without any hint of coercion. She appreciated his thoughtfulness and gathered all her bravery to accept.
And here she was. Marianne fumbled with her paintbrush, sneaking little glances directed at him. He sat at some distance beside her. She noticed how he furrowed his brow and how much attention he paid to the tip of the thin brush. He had poured hours of attentive work into the project in the previous weeks. She watched the artwork grow from a collection of crisscrossing graphite lines to the defined shape of bluebirds one day before class. She saw how the flat, geometric colors added in volume after variations of hue layered upon it. His delicate hands crafted the texture of pillow-soft feathers, gleaming beaks, and mirror-like waters of a pristine marble fountain.
She felt the corners of her lips curl up into a small smile. Her hands worked quickly, too, as minutes passed in silence. After completing a flat color base for her painting, she suddenly felt lost. She had not experimented much with artistic pieces, and she wanted to learn the technique for drawing realistic feathers.
Oh, you mustn't trouble Ignatz more than you already had, she thought to herself. Her eyes were drawn to him nonetheless, and in an indecisive attempt to reach out to him, she found herself staring.
When their gazes met, Marianne felt a tinge of warmth blossoming on her cheeks. Simultaneously, a sense of guilt and warmth washed over her.
"Marianne, is there anything I could help you with?" Ignatz questioned, setting down his brush. His confusion was apparent from the way he adjusted his glasses.
"Um, I'm sorry for staring for so long. I must've made you feel uncomfortable," she apologized, her line of sight already shifted towards the ground.
"You shouldn't worry," Ignatz chirped gently. "While I appreciate working without someone peering over my shoulders, your presence does not irk me at all."
"That's good to know…I'm glad," Marianne muttered, mostly to herself.
"Let me know if you need anything," he announced before picking up his brush again. He gave her a smile that melted away her troubles, even if for a moment.
Glancing at her canvas again, however, began to give her second thoughts. "Actually, Ignatz, may you please let me look at how the feathers are drawn on yours? I'm at a loss on what to do."
"Anytime."
He gestured for her to bring her seat closer to him, so she stood up to carry her stool. Marianne knew that she should move closer to him, but despite gaining explicit permission, she felt the need to stay at a distance. She couldn't let her…curse affect Ignatz, who had already returned to his work. The wooden stool was lighter than a horse's saddle, but she still wobbled in her path as she walked towards his easel. Her steps were unsteady and unfocused.
"Do you need help?" Ignatz offered, standing up to give her a hand.
He approached too close, too quickly. "No! F-for your good."
The next few seconds seemed to blur together. In her panic, one of her stool's legs got caught by the leg of Ignatz's easel. His canvas tipped backward, to their horror, towards the fountain. She dropped the stool immediately, shocked and unable to react in time. With a great splash, the painting fell into the fountain. A few bubbles emerged unceremoniously.
The pair stared at the circle of paint dispersing from the painting at its center. Reacting late, Marianne rushed to the fountain and picked it up, not minding the wet stain on her hands. She hurriedly examined the painting closely: the once intricately-crafted form of bluebirds now only appeared as blurred dots. The gradient that created the sheen of the marble was monotonous and two-dimensional. The sunset in the background bled into the water of the fountain. A perfect artform from the hands of Ignatz Victor was now ruined by her.
She couldn't bear to meet Ignatz's gaze as she imagined the look of utter resentment and vexation upon his face should she dare. Although she felt that most tragedies were her fault; but none so directly as this. Hot tears began to well up in the corner of her eyes, fingers clenching the canvas that was once immaculate. Her hands covered her face when she felt the tears trailing from her face. Still facing the fountain, her knees gave out as she collapsed onto the ground abruptly.
"I-I'm sorry," she murmured between muffled sobs. "I knew that my c-curse would..."
"Marianne! Don't say that," Ignatz reasoned, "There is no curse."
"You don't understand, Ignatz. I'm at fault here. I'm the reason why this happened." Marianne shook her head solemnly. "Please, go away. For your own good. I'm sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have invited me—"
"I want you here. Can't you see?" Ignatz paused for emphasis. "You're the reason why I got to spend such a wonderful evening with you."
"H-huh?"
He knelt down and held her hand within his, cooing, "While I must admit that I am sad to see my handiwork gone, I'm not upset at you for it. I know it was an accident. Whether or not the curse exists, know that I am willing to see your smile despite it all."
Her sniffle stifled for a moment. Had she heard him right? "T-truly? You don't blame me…?"
"Truly, I don't," he replied while quickly grabbing the brush on her canvas with one of his hands. The other hand never left hers. He offered the brush to her, giving a smile that stood out brightly despite the rapidly darkening hours. After receiving a tentative nod from her, he led her to her canvas, fingers still intertwined with the brush between them. Marianne was hesitant, despite her heart already telling her that this was okay. This felt right.
He lifted the brush to the canvas with Marianne's slender hands.
"Let's create something new together, okay?"