Disclaimer: All characters belong to NetEase. I'm only trying to write.
Ever since he lost his dear twin, life has never been the same for Joseph. It felt like he lost a part of his soul when he lost Claude. While he knew that their parents tried everything in their power to save them both, he still couldn't erase the wish they shouldn't have tried at all if it's all going to end like this.
Since losing Claude, people no longer held meaning to him. He loved his parents, he treasured his friends, but he couldn't feel any semblance of a deeper bond with anyone else. He began to fill that void with art—he taught himself to paint the world and its inhabitants in a brightness he never saw anymore—a form of escapism from the emptiness he felt. He tried to capture the essence of life in a world where he no longer felt he was living in. But it wasn't enough. The portraits he made were just as lifeless as his eyes.
So, he searched for a way to enliven his images. It was a long arduous search that occupied years of his life—but then again, what else was he to do?—until he discovered the amazing technological wonder of the camera.
His photography was simply the best thing to happen in his life. Preserving a person's visage in a piece of paper that will last for centuries enthralled the former nobleman's obsessive psyche that it took precedence over everything else in his life. He loved it so much that he kept asking people to model for him. Soon after, he made himself quite the reputation in the small English town—who wouldn't want to have their picture taken by the well-mannered French gentleman?
Capturing the perfect likeness of people might've satisfied him already, but upon learning that he could capture their souls—it became his new obsession. He spent years perfecting his craft, only remembering to keep his dismal health in check just so he could live long enough to capture everyone's images. One objective burned in his mind; if he had known about this before, perhaps he wouldn't have had to lose his brother.
After his twin, their parents were the closest to his heart that he couldn't face the reality that would eventually claim them in their twilight ages. But with his camera, Joseph wouldn't have to lose anyone else anymore.
What started as a mission to save his loved ones from their ultimate fate developed into a mania he didn't want to get out of. Joseph wanted to extend his generosity to everyone, so long as they're full of life and beauty. He told his friends about it—wanting others to see the favor he's been doing for people who would otherwise be nothing else but unknown dust lost to time. Alas, they wouldn't believe him, called him a madman behind his back, but he was a kind person. Soon after, they joined his collection. Those plebeians he deemed beautiful enough to be 'saved', he would ask for the final time for a photoshoot—no cost required—so long as he keeps their framed souls on the walls of his studio.
The townspeople finally caught on what was really happening with the disappearances, but he had prepared for that. After all, Joseph always wanted to be young and beautiful forever.
The enchantment finally breaks and once again the Photographer's mind returns to the game where he is presently standing in front of an empty canvas. He scoffs in derision at the new survivor's tricky ability; the painting was hardly impressive to be distracted over, but it forced him to ruminate on thoughts he kept aside long ago.
"How'd you like that, old man?" the snarky Painter jibes from a distance, apparently more interested in showing off his skills than in decoding. "My paintings are clearly superior."
The Photographer scowls at the snob testing his patience. The only reason he quit painting was because they were never enough, not because he was bad at it. But then again, insufferable youths don't have to know about that. "They don't last long," the hunter remarks coolly with a cold stare, "just like you."
With a quick swipe and a good Blink, he immediately incapacitates the red-cloaked youngster who is unaware of the damage his mirror image took earlier. The hunter eagerly chairs him, careful not to get too close to the other unimpressive painting lying in wait.
He just has to wait for the Priestess to rescue the irritable survivor, then it'll be his victory. The amateur will be easy to catch again, so he'll just have to worry about the female's pesky portals. Then, like a good gentleman, he'll escort Helena to the dungeon, if she doesn't already go there first.
His Tinnitus signals the arrival of the rescuer but much to his surprise, it is the Mind's Eye who decides to come. Joseph smiles at her bravery; he had expected her to avoid the conflict after their agreement several minutes ago, but it seems that she's a person who won't refuse a call for help. He can see Helena trying to be sneaky by coming up from behind the rocket chair but with his superb swordsmanship that never diminished in grace even after his life, he can easily hit her even with the obstructive furniture. But he doesn't do it. He can see the Painter's confusion as the Mind's Eye hastily frees him and shields him as they escape.
The woman is trying her best to protect the lad, so much so that Joseph can't find an opening to hit him. Wounding Helena, even by mistake, would buy the Painter enough time to run and even place a painting to distract him. That wouldn't do, and Joseph would hate it if he allowed the little upstart to escape.
The perfect opportunity eventually presents itself but then, in a panicked frenzy, the Painter pushes the Mind's Eye backwards, making her land directly in front of the Photographer who already has his sword up in the air. Her pained squeak alerts him of his target that he pivots around to prevent himself from hitting her, almost tripping on his own feet. He has half the mind to throw his weapon at the offending youth who is quite a distance away already, but his worries kick in and demand that he checks up on the victim instead.
He bends down to extend a hand towards her, unbothered whoever may see. "Helena, are you alright?"
Once more, Joseph laments his inability to join the other game modes, secretly hoping that he could help someone just by lifting them up.
"Y-Yes," is her visibly shaken response as she accepts his help. Her warm touch pulls him to another reverie. His peers would probably get the shock of their life if they see him like this. Apart from his family, Joseph just doesn't touch anyone. Not even the numerous people he had entrapped in his past life did he ever share physical contact with. Partly due to his upbringing and partly due to his detachment from society, he barred himself from loosely granting others such intimacy, save from the mandatory role of a gentleman to help someone in need of a hand. But in this game, he isn't supposed to be a gentleman—he's the hunter and yet he's helping his prey.
However, feeling the warmth from the small hand in his… makes him question just how much he terribly missed such a sensation—and how truly 'unalive' he is right now.
"Sir Joseph, I'm okay. You'll lose if you stay here…" The worried voice reminds him just how being unbecoming he is, holding her hand for as long as he did.
Almost abruptly, he drops her hand and retreats his own behind his back. He already has an apology in mind, but her earlier statement intrigues him more; it's a touching surprise to know that she cares about him enough to worry about his victory. "Helena, you shouldn't say things like that. Don't you want to win?"
"Well, of course! I want us both to win." Her unabashed conviction shows, then she remembers that they aren't supposed to be allies. "…if that were possible. But I'm worried about you. You're the one doing things that no hunter does."
He chuckles at the truth. Just talking here with her is making him lose interest in the match, but this abnormality in his thinking is something he cannot wholly ignore, either. No, being with Helena brings him too much joy, that he doesn't care anymore if he gets reported for neglecting his role.
"Then, I guess we're a match," he smiles, absentmindedly lifting his unoccupied hand to caress her rose-tinted cheek. "The survivor and the hunter who are more interested in each other than in the game."
With wide eyes staring up at him, her small voice inquires, "Interested in… each other?"
Ashamed of the boldness of his words, he wonders where his prudence went and if he could find it before she begins thinking badly of him. But at the same time, he doesn't want to look fickle in front of her. No, he always pushes through with his decisions.
"Aren't we?" he queries, half-confident and half-anxious of her reply.
In a picture-perfect moment of a maiden smiling demurely in amusement and delight, Helena beams like the sun itself, "Yes, we are." She delicately touches the cold fingers still on her cheek—which Joseph has just now recognized to be his, much to his embarrassment. Yet, her brilliant smile prevents him from moving.
"I like you, Sir Joseph," she confesses once more, bolder than the previous admittance. "And I hope to know more about you."
The gentleman stares back in awe, vaguely aware of everything else except from the warm feeling in his chest. The desire for her warmth, the purity of her cordiality… how is it that someone blind to the world could show him such radiance? But thinking back, perhaps those who could see like him are truly the ones ignorant of the things that matter in life. Perhaps those who've lived in darkness are the ones enlightened, the ones able to see a different kind of color, a different kind of life. Being a creature of the dark, no longer alive yet not dead, he feels his being yearning for her warmth but not to consume and extinguish it, but to hold it—feel it—in its blinding glory. Beyond understanding, he who has captured many souls feels his own captivated by a petite lady with blind intelligent eyes.
"Helena Adams," his husky voice starts, not without a smile, "you truly are a charming lady. Our feelings are mutual." Finally withdrawing his hand, he forces it to behave behind his back. "I would like to take a picture of you someday. A normal one, if it's alright with you."
"Of course, I'd be honored!" comes her exuberant reply. Then suddenly, her eyes look about in surprise. "Oh, Fiona is calling me. There's only one cipher left, too."
The Photographer straightens himself in alert, a bit irked about the reminder. He had indulged himself in her presence for too long. "Well, let's best be going. See you later, Helena," he bids as he turns around to leave.
"See you soon, Sir Joseph!" she answers as the portal begins to take form in front of her.
"Oh, one more thing." He halts, glancing over his shoulder to look at her. "Please call me Joseph."
With that, he leaves, remembering the crime the foul-mouthed youth had done earlier and the cute dazed expression the maiden made at his small request.