"You came." A gentle voice from the corner of the room made her appear to regain her composure. Certainly, it was fake but she wouldn't let him see through her. Not that night.
Cecilia tilted her head to see him. He was there, standing beside large easel shrouded in thin linen. He had his hands tucked behind his back. She couldn't miss noticing the bruises on his face that had faded to dull yellow and soft brows. Despite that, his set of shoulders was still taut, alert, like a man prepared for a blow.
She cleared her throat, the circuits of her brain delaying a proper response. She had no idea why but the odd sound she made earned that familiar, quiet smile to pull at the corners of his lips.
Instantly, at that sight, she felt her throat dry. Still, she wasn't willing to let him see through her.
"I did," she finally replied tightly. Then she stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her as though sealing them off from the rest of the world. "I did," she muttered again, this time more to accept the reality of her own decision.
"Well, I'm glad," he replied, still quiet, still unmoving.
"You need not be, Your Grace," she returned immediately, almost too snappy.
His brows raised slightly but he didn't say a word. A mere glance at her expression proved she had more words.
"Only because I had questions," she told him, holding her stance in a distance from him, as though she feared coming any closer to him might crumble her walls.
Her statement made him blink, but however, his tone sounded unsurprised. "Then ask them."
Cecilia crossed her arms. Her question formed in her mind, and as it grew, it came along with a certain irritation that quickened her breath.
"You can be quite puzzling, Your Grace," she began. "Puzzling and infuriating." Then she shook her head, as though that certain realization inflated her growing temper.
By the sound of her tone, it was undeniable she was dead serious. Yet a ghost smile pulled a corner of Theo's lip before muttering, "You forgot charming."
"I am not in the mood for jokes," she snapped in frustration. She took a step further into the room. And then two more, her confidence rising alongside her annoyance.
"Neither am I," Theo returned, his gaze soft on her, and yet despite his sentence, his almost invisible amused smile didn't falter. "What makes me so puzzling and aggravating?"
"Oh, I will lecture you on that, Your Grace," she retorted with the most sarcastic tone. "Among many others, why don't we start with the fact you wanted to have me here for the mere purpose of retrieving a scandalous portrait of myself?" Her tone turned incredulous. "And where, exactly, do you imagine I will hang my half-naked likeness in my family's estate? Over the dining table? In the nursery?"
Theo chuckled, and his laughter made her freeze. It had not sounded mocking, but with a certain disarming, earnest warmth that could make her angrier simply because it made her want to forgive him too easily. A laugh that made her want to easily fold and forget about every other entity in this damn world.
His smile slowly faded before he finally spoke, "It isn't what you think."
"Isn't it?" she challenged, stepping closer with a quiet huff. "After ignoring me, you summoned me like some reckless artist expecting praise, and for what? To gawk at your scandalous masterpiece and applaud your memory of my body?"
Still, he did not argue. He said no words. Instead, with great care, he turned to the canvas draped with linen. Standing behind him, she watched him lift the cloak away.
"That must be it," she observed from where she stood. She was yet to have a proper gaze because he was still standing in front of the portrait. Although she had just demonstrated a rebellious act, a part of her was nervous, somewhat thrilled, to see what he had created out of her.
"Come closer, Cecilia." His voice dropped into the softest tune she had ever heard. The depths of her stomach flipped at the sound of her name rolling on his tongue.
Like a spell, she had turned quiet as she took several steps forward till she was standing beside him.
Whatever words she had planned to say in her throat turned to vapor, disappearing like smoke the way every single of her gathered thoughts did.
And every reason could be pointed at the painting—the most beautiful painting she was currently watching.
Her eyes widened as she took in the painting, her breath stuttering against the swell of emotion blooming in her chest. Her mind wrapped around the very first and clear observation about the painting.
She wasn't naked.
The woman in the painting was her, yes, but it was the Cecilia who had entered that strange, surreal ballroom on the night of the Solstice. It was the Cecilia who sought some share of freedom that night by dressing a bit uncomfortably and trying her best not to mind it. The Cecilia in a crimson dress that had scandalized her, the one that had made her feel both terrified and alive.
Every detail of that night had been illustrated, down to her mask dangling from her fingers. The sight of her loose hair, caught in motion as it was swept by an invisible air almost transported her back to that night. She could almost feel it.
But the most remarkable part was that she could touch it. A time frozen in past had been captured on canvas. That Cecilia was gazing back at her, gaze half over her shoulder, lips parted slightly—it was as though the portrait breathed.
