It was a day like any other. His arrival didn't change that. "Go on, go say hi to him if nothing else," Nerissa teased, but there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way, a scrape of stone rough against tender skin. I huffed and gathered my belongings, making it a point to look as miserable as possible as I packed up my easel. I've been alone most of my life. I liked my solitude, or, I'd gotten used to it, rather. It was my sanctuary, a shield against the indifference that had long since been my reality. Forgotten, overlooked, and alone — just another day in Silta Vie. Palace life revolved around others' obessions: the need for validation, the pursuit of fleeting highs, and the relentless quest for physical perfection. One sought the throne, another craved infallibility, while others still chased the ephemeral pleasures of superficial beauty. I just wanted to escape, and at the time, I didn't care how it was that I got out. I wish I had been more specific.
"Hey, I'm Vexx," his voice dripped with confidence as a burst of scarlet appeared before me. His unnaturally red hair commanded my attention. I looked him up and down, disdain masking my curiosity. There was this arrogance settled in his features, the piercing eyes of a predator dissected me. He was a cunning fox and I was a vulnerable rabbit. It annoyed me at the time — that fucking smirk — but I couldn't help but be drawn to him. "This is the part where you tell me your name, Princess," he winked, sending a slight shiver down my spine.
"Raina," I said, my voice involuntarily raising to a betraying pitch. I aimed for indifference, a cool, authoritative air, even. I sounded flustered and a bit girly.
I am girly. The art of transformation through makeup and fashion has always captivated me. I feel an unshakable sense of confidence when my hair is curled elegantly and I'm dressed in my finest. The opportunities for such are fleeting, but I cherish the rare moments I did have. Nerissa gave me her hand-me-downs sometimes. When I was younger, we would spend countless hours, unfettered by reason or occassion, lost in the whimsy of our own private fashion shows. I'm on the cusp of adulthood now, but, I find myself longing for those carefree days, of having someone to just be myself with.
"Do you always paint with such… passion?" he gestured to my paint-splashed easel.
"No, I just haul this around all day. Good exercise." I said, injecting a hint of sarcasm in my tone. He raised an eyebrow and I relented, "I do like to paint. I'm not very good at it, but I find it soothing. I only paint flowers, and the sky, but never a flower in the sky. That would be ridiculous."
He chuckled, then asked to see one of my paintings. I hesistated before showing him. He attempt at admiration was endearing, if unconvincing. "Is this one of those paintings that looks better from far away?"
A laugh escaped me. He asked so innocently, not a trace of insult to be found. "No," I grinned, "it looks just as bad from far away."
I run my hand through my hair, lost in thought as I stared at the ceiling, a faint sigh escaping my lips. "That's adorable," Ryona smiles. Her gentle smile and soft voice are a welcomed contrast to my mood. "Are your paintings really that bad, though?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. They were, unless I was remembering wrong.
"Yes… I used to cycle through hobbies trying to find something that resonated with me, or really showcased my aptitude. Photography and fiber arts were my brief forays into excellence…" My voice trailed off, as I had gotten tired of listening to myself speak at that point, but Ryona insisted on listening to my stories, no matter how mundane.
Ryona is the only one who knows my darkest secret. I'm desperately in love with the man who murdered my entire family.
