Blue Rose and Raven: Chapter Ten

Marius slowly regains his desire to paint, and he and the Beast grow closer.

When I first began learning from Duchanne, I was very unhappy with how my paintings turned out. I was young and inexperienced, having barely painted anything in my life at the tender age of twelve. My pictures were little better than scratches in the dirt I’d made as a toddler, or so I thought. Compared to Duchanne’s many masterpieces, I felt as if I’d never reach his level in my lifetime.

“Of course you won’t,” He rasped when I spoke on the matter during a lesson. “You’ve barely started. You aspire to be a master, yet you’ve barely painted.” I told him I didn’t understand. He rubbed his temples, his wrinkled forehead resembling dried leather. “You’re onto something. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have accepted you as my student. I was just like you once, and my teacher before me told me that the hardest lesson for any artist to learn is that you never grow what you don’t water. This is a practice like any other, and you only get better if you keep doing it.”

“So what should I do?” I asked.

 “You keep showing up, and you keep wanting to paint. That’s all.” He said, weathered face cracking into a smile. “Come. Let’s finish this still life.”

I think I still had that painting somewhere in my old room. I remember it turning out well, considering my skills at the time. Duchanne was at times eccentric, but I always sensed he could see the best in me. As he said, he was not one for taking students. Yet he saw something in me enough to take me under his wing and teach me what he knew. Like Connie’s carpentry, it was a discipline that could be learned and refined through years and years of practice. When Duchanne died, my apprenticeship was only half-finished. He’d left me with so much to learn. Now with him gone, I understood now that it fell to me to continue my journey without him. It would be long and difficult. Yet even still, I felt ready to face the future.

My first few paintings were small and simple. I had no plans for them. I didn’t even put down an underdrawing. I simply put colors onto canvas and played around like a child who’d just discovered the art and held no judgement or higher purpose besides expression. The resulting pictures were unrestrained, unfettered explosions of color and movement. They didn’t represent anything, but I didn’t want them to. I was playing. And that was alright with me. Soon all the familiar joys of my art came back: my pristine painter’s smock stained with paint, the clean ends of brushes now spotted with every color in my palette, my palette looking like a field of bright flowers. My hands too were stained with paint, and I couldn’t be happier. I spent the entire night just painting to paint. There were no expectations, no burdens to attach to it. I just enjoyed the act of it.

            Indeed, the strange timescale of the manor made it so that when I finally felt tired enough to lay down, I shut my eyes for a moment when I heard the quiet knock of the servants to alert me of breakfast. I had no idea how much time had passed, but from my grogginess I assumed it was not long.

            I came to the dining room and sat down. The Beast looked me up and down, her eyes quizzical. “What happened to you?”

            I stared at my hands and my clothes. “Oh,” I laughed sheepishly. “Forgive me. I should’ve cleaned up before breakfast.” I wiped my hands with a napkin. “I painted last night.”

            “That’s wonderful to hear,” The Beast said, her low voice rising slightly. “I’m happy for you.” She took a cup of tea and brought it to her beak.

            “It felt good just to do it again, you know?” I looked at her. “You were right.”

            “About what?”

            “That the past is in the past. There are things that I can’t control, yes. I should look towards the future instead. And even if I can never see my family again, at least they’ll be safe and cared for as you say. I feel like I can live with this knowledge now.” My thoughts briefly turned to them. I waved them away for the moment. “If this is my life now, then I accept it.”

            The Beast stuck her beak into the cup and slurped, a long black tongue flicking inside to catch the remaining teadrops. “This is all very good news, Marius. I will continue to provide whatever you need of me. Now, let us eat.” I nodded, and we dined on breakfast.

            As we walked in the garden, I felt myself lighter and happier of spirit. I walked at the Beast’s side feeling as an equal instead of in her shadow. In my better mood I noticed that my odd host walked with a certain deflated posture. She walked as she carried a great weight on her shoulders, her eyes watching the ground. She seemed distant, preoccupied.

            “Is something troubling you, Lady Beast?” I finally said.

            My question snapped her attention to me. “Mm? Oh, no. You need not worry about me.” The corners of her beak curled into a smile. “I’m a bit full from breakfast. Ham and eggs and birdseed and all that.” She waved her hand as if clearing smoke. “Besides, I’d rather not talk about myself. I don’t wish to trouble you with my matters.”

            “If there was something on your mind, would you feel comfortable telling me? I may not understand, but I could listen.”

            “That’s very thoughtful of you. But I’d rather not.”

            “I understand,” I said.

            We walked through the garden for a while, in silence. Even though it was still winter, the storms that accompanied my arrival had ceased to make our garden walks very pleasant. There were no servants present. There was only me and the Beast, alone.

            “I need to rest.” The Beast finally said, motioning to a nearby bench. She forced her cane into the ground and carefully lowered herself, heavy breath escaping her as she sat. I sat beside her. She brushed her hands over her right leg, wincing.

            “Your leg?”

            The Beast nodded. “It hasn’t been kind to me recently. The servants will need to use a different salve.” She clutched her leg again, hissing in pain.

            “How did that happen? Were you in an accident?”

            “I was born with this, as I was born with nine fingers. I’ve walked with a cane my whole life. As for this monstrous form�"” She waved her hand around her bestial form. “Well, this is a recent development.” The Beast sighed, resting both hands on her cane. “How frustrating it is when even your own body despises you.” She scowled.

            “I don’t despise you,” I said.

            The Beast scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You’re my guest. If I were, I would be your captor.”

            “You have been a very good host, for what that’s worth.” I replied.

            “You are endlessly polite.” She said, a slight smile teasing at her beak. “It is very troubling.”

            “I may like to spend time by myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to treat others,” I said. The Beast turned to look at me. “I’d think worse of myself first than of anyone else, to be honest.”

            “Why is that?”

            I thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to trouble others by thinking ill of them. I think people pick up on things like that. It’s easy to judge others without knowing them. Maybe that’s why I don’t like being around people most days. Getting to know others is hard enough with the knowledge that they could turn around and hurt you.”

            The Beast nodded. “That is the dilemma.”

            “Yet I don’t hate people. It’s strange to think, but I met a good friend by accident back home. Elaine. I think I told you.”

            “Yes. The dog and that miscreant who hit you in the face.”

            I rubbed my nose at the memory. “I thought I was foolish for the longest time for that. But now I realize it was a great thing I stepped in to help. And now Elaine and her Grandma are part of the family.” My thoughts drifted to them, then to the rest of those I’d left behind. My heart grew heavy. “At least they’re better off now.”

            “Great insight for someone so young,” The Beast remarked. “It is something few possess even in adulthood.”

            “I spent a lot of time by myself. It gives me room to think.” I said, smiling.

            The Beast nodded. I saw something like recognition flicker in her eyes.

            For a moment, we sat with nothing but the cold breeze making a sound.

The Beast shifted in her seat. “Well, I have matters to attend. I’d best let you go.” She took her cane, leaning hard on it. She grunted, heaving herself up.

            “Wait,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Please let me help you.” I took her free arm. She tensed at first, then relaxed as I gently held her upper arm. The scent of lavender was overpowering now, sharp, yet sweet. I carefully helped her to her feet. Soon the Beast held herself up, both hands on her cane. Her eyes darted down to my hands still on her arm. Embarrassed, I let go.

            “I didn’t ask you to let go,” The Beast said coyly. “I was going to thank you, however.” She held out her arm again.  “And if you don’t mind, I’d like you to walk me back that way.” She gazed at me expectantly.

            My face grew hot. I was sure I was blushing. I wasn’t used to being embarrassed. It seemed she was right: I was too polite for my own good. But how impolite it would be to refuse her request. To insult a lady, especially the lady of a house, would not be optimal. I took her arm, and we walked inside.

            That night as I sat at my easel sketching absentmindedly, I thought over and over about that moment. It was an exercise to purge my mind of unwelcome thoughts and emotions I didn’t know how to express. I puzzled over my reaction, over the Beast’s reaction. The more I thought, the more I began to sketch out a beak, then messy feathers, then striking eyes that seemed to light from within. They were rough and messy, just scribbling down thoughts onto paper with pencil or charcoal. When I finished, I had I sketched the Beast’s raven face. Birds were interesting creatures to draw. Their forms made for excellent shapes to break down and translate into paper. I’d never seen many live ravens in my time, having only seen them drawn by other artists or stuffed and put on display. They were always thought as solemn and filthy creatures, harbingers of doom and portent. I always found that a bit silly. They were just birds, no worse than a blue jay or a cardinal. Beautiful in their way, as all things in nature were.

            Beautiful. My brow furrowed. And so strange. That described this place very well. Gloom and empty halls, ghostly servants, a monstrous host. Yet none of it meant any harm. And the way the Beast had looked at me�"

            Stop, I told myself, putting down my pencil. That’s enough for tonight. She is your host. You are a guest. That is all.

            I crept into bed, sinking into the cushions. That is all, I told myself again and again as I drifted into sleep.

Author's Note

General thoughts.