Serena looked at the stars in the sky. The plates had long been cleared away by the castle staff, leaving just the two of them on the old stone bench in the garden courtyard. The night air was cool, brushing past her skin in gentle gusts.
"Why?" she asked, resting her cheek in her palm, elbow propped against the wooden armrest.
"More space to breathe," he said, eyes following a constellation she couldn’t name. "That dining area is more for formalities."
A comfortable silence settled over them. Serena crossed and uncrossed her legs, then decided to ask her question.
"The commander mentioned that you were a Shadewright..."
Darius turned to her at last, the flicker of a frown ghosting over his features. His expression was unreadable. He looked up at the sky and sighed.
"He would be right," he said.
Darius twiddled with his thumbs. It had been so long since he sat in front of a canvas holding a brush to paint. It was a shame, really.
The branch that broke off from the great ancestral pack that eventually formed Ironshade in the West was seen as weak. Most of them were artists of different mediums. It was why, to this day, they were still placed highly for having such a gift.
"I do not mean to pry, but why did you stop?" Serena asked.
Darius shrugged. The spark had been gone since his family was torn apart. It was strange, the craft had all but died in his hands. He could still feel the motions of dragging the brush across the canvas, nitpicking over his mistakes.
All his techniques had been passed down from his father to him, and he had made his own. He remembered his parents’ proud eyes when he made his first painting. Looking back at it, it was a terrible piece, but at the time Darius felt on top of the world. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on N0velFire.ɴet
Then his mother died, and his father went mad. Everything had gone downhill from there, including his talent and skill.
"I do not know." Darius flexed his fingers one by one, then curled them into a fist. "Responsibilities I had to face... I just no longer had the time anymore."
Serena watched him with rapt attention. He took just a bit longer than normal to answer her questions. She wondered if painting to him was like helping the injured was to her.
It was the reason why she had been moved to tears in private after treating Emmett and his party. It had been so long since she’d felt some sense of normality. Was it like that for him as well?
"Do you want to try your hand at it again?" Serena asked.
Darius stopped playing with his thumbs and looked up at her, as though it was the first time he was really seeing her. Would he really be able to paint again after so long?
"Serena... I am not sure," he confessed.
"We can never know until you try," she said with a small smile.
That smile, yet again, the one that disarmed him so easily, the one he had wanted to see so badly when she came. Darius pressed his hands to his ears and nodded at her.
"I can try... just this once."
It felt like she had been walking forever, step after winding step, her calves quietly screaming in protest. Serena gathered the hem of her dress to avoid tripping, trailing just behind Darius. When would it end?
"Sorry," he said over his shoulder, glancing back with a half-guilty smile. "The studio is always up from here."
"It’s okay," she replied, breath just a little short. The tight pull in her hamstrings told a different story, but she didn’t mind.
Serena could swear they were making their way to the top, and soon they arrived at a door with a massive padlock. Darius dug into his pocket and pulled out a long, skinny key, inserting it into the lock and turning it.
After a little struggle, he got it open and pushed the door.
"Wait here for me," he said.
Darius walked in and pulled open the curtains to reveal a massive window, even larger than the one in his bedroom. There, the moon sat in the sky, shining down on them.
"You can come in," Darius instructed as he dusted off the window seat. "You can take a seat right here."
Serena walked in. Most of the tools were covered. She looked at the covered masses, all irregular, some with parts jutting out of the side. The dust everywhere and the musty smell told her the room had been abandoned for quite some time.
She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the window seat, only to wince and shift. Something hard pressed into her side. Reaching under her hip, she pulled out a small book with worn corners and faded lettering.
Storytimes for Darius.
"Did you find something you like?" Darius’s voice drifted from deeper in the studio, muffled by cloth and distance.
"Yes, it’s nothing important," Serena said. She put the book off to the side and rose to go look for him. "Why don’t you try painting the moon? It is rather simple."
Darius laughed, holding a canvas in his hands. "You really think so?"
Serena looked away. "Maybe it is."
She drifted back to the seat and opened the book. On the first one page in elegant, looping handwriting, was a letter:
This is my gift to you. I know it has not been easy for you.
Remember, you’re my strong little boy, and you are as wise as you are talented.
Do not hold on to unimportant things, and do not borrow grief from your future.
I will be with you, forever and always.
"Wow," Serena murmured.
She flipped the page and started reading the book.
Behind his easel, Darius sat down and adjusted his position, twisting slightly to get comfortable. He rolled up his sleeve, smearing dabs of paint across his forearm in neat, practiced streaks- an odd habit of his.
He looked at the moon and then at Serena, who was engrossed in whatever book she had found.
It would be easier to paint her than the moon.