Violet Mortis's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Violet set the seventh portrait against the wall and stepped back. Her hands ached. The other six watched her from across the room, lit by the soft afternoon glow filtering through the window. She had stopped counting hours ago. She only knew that his face was still here, still hers, as long as she kept painting. Somewhere behind her, footsteps slowed. A stranger had stopped to look. Violet turned. A short girl stood with her hands in her jean pockets, blonde hair loose, green eyes fixed on the row of portraits. "I know him," the girl said. "I saw him last week. He's looking for you." Violet's grip tightened on the brush. The girl gave an address, then a soft smile, and walked out. Violet stared at the seventh portrait. He was alive. He was near. And he was searching for a face she was no longer sure she still wore. Violet carried each portrait outside and lined them along the wall. Six versions of a tall blonde man, blue eyes, that wide smile she had failed to keep. She needed to see them all at once, in real light, before she went to him. The brush dropped from her fingers. She wrote the address on her palm in paint. Then she turned back to the seventh canvas and began to mix a new color. She would finish it tonight. She had to know his face before he saw hers. She worked until the sky went dark. The seventh portrait stared back, wrong again. The mouth was too thin. The eyes held no warmth. She carried it outside and set it on the woodpile beside the charred frame of the laughing one she had burned weeks ago. She struck the match. Flames licked the canvas, and his painted face curled into ash. Violet pressed the address on her palm to her chest. She would go to him tomorrow. Empty-handed. Unfinished. Before she forgot the way.