The Sponsor and The Painting

June 21, 1941

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Marble sculptures of timeless figures with finely sculpted limbs encompassed the granite floors. On the walls, gold-framed paintings that would render the viewer spellbound with amazement and sheer wonder were hung up with a single nail and string.

It looked to be a mirage- a wonderland of the best art pieces that would satiate any art lover or admirer.

At the center of it, Ines stood dead struck silent like a dehydrated wanderer of the Crimson Desert who finally found an oasis to quench their insatiable thirst.

For a brief moment, the young girl raised her arm as if she wanted to run her fingers along the painting and feel the path the painter had taken—the delicate strokes of the brush against the canvas, and the bumpy texture of the dried paint.

"How beautiful," She quietly marveled. The painting almost appeared to be lifelike, like a clip of reality that had been preserved.

Ines traced the haggard and bloodied figures depicted on the canvas with her eyes. Under the setting sun and in a field of white daisies, a beautiful young woman with hair like a river of gold lay in the arms of a man with hair the color of ash.

The young woman in the painting wore a crimson red gown, yet it couldn't conceal the blood that seeped out from her abdomen in torrents. The man wore an uncaring expression, yet his eyes were wet with unshed tears. He held her limp body with a single trembling arm, his other arm amputated and the stump messily wrapped in cloth.

'An Eternity With You? What a fitting name for such a painting.'

"As expected, you were here," A voice behind her said, interrupting her musing.

Ines jolted at their words and she closed her journal. Then, with her back turned, she said, "Good afternoon, Marcel."

"What a bore, I don't quite understand your obsession with these paintings—you see it every day."

"You don't have to understand," Ines countered. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Getting straight to the point as always, aren't you? Well, teacher Amadeus told me to fetch you."

She raised a single eyebrow and finally turned to face Marcel, "What for?"

Standing behind her and leaning on the wall, a boy who looked to be no older than fifteen shrugged at her question. As usual, he wore a grim expression. His face was unnaturally pale, highlighting the product of his weeks of sleepless nights--deep-sunken eyebags.

As he looked up and noticed her fleeting gaze, Marcel scowled and rolled his eyes. "Beats me, how would I know? Though, I heard from the others that apparently a 'wealthy sponsor' is arriving soon."

"…Sponsor?"

"Don't ask me—that's all I know," He sighed. "Let's go; lest we be late and anger teacher Amadeus, we should hurry."

And so, without turning back to see if the younger girl was following behind him, Marcel left.

"Alright," She murmured despite how the older boy had already left, and with her sole audience being the ornate walls and the numerous paintings.

At last, Ines turned to look at the paintings once more before following Marcel's vanishing steps.

As she turned the corner, the painting she stood before moments ago stirred as if it had been roused and brought to life. The young woman in the painting exhaled her last, and she stretched her willowy, bloodless arm towards Ines' fading shadow.

But as though she were a marionette and her strings had been cut, her arm dropped and resumed back to the position it was in previously.

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"…Prec-Preceptor Amadeus? What is this?"

"A guide."

Jawslacked, Ines blankly received an extensive "guide" that was thicker than her own head and weighed more than a single cattle.

"What's the matter?" The older woman asked.

"Nothing- it's nothing, it's just…" Ines flipped through the pages and peered at the hand-drawn images and passages. "What is this for?"

"I'm sure Marcel has told you already, Ines. As you know, a wealthy sponsor is arriving soon—perhaps within an hour or less."

Ines wrinkled her eyebrows as if she didn't understand and quizzically asked, "…But, what does that have to do with me?"

"They've taken an interest in you, and I was notified a couple of weeks ago that they'd like to sponsor you."

Those few words struck like thunder.

"…Pardon?"

But as though the Preceptor hadn't noticed Ines' change in expression, she continued speaking.

"That family holds great power across the Continent—the young scions your age within that family have already created names for themselves; I'm sure you'll gain a lot from this experience and those your age," The older woman then added after a brief pause, "You might even become his disciple."

Ines stared down at the guide, her hands frigid. "Do I have a choice?"

"What a silly question! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," Preceptor Amadeus laughed.

However, she wasn't smiling.

The older woman then stood up to open the curtains, and with her back turned, she asked, "What's your decision, Ines?"

"..It sounds wonderful," She forced out through gritted teeth. Ines then stood up from her seat and bowed, her palms white from how hard she was gripping the guide. "Thank you for your generosity, Preceptor."

Although the younger girl couldn't see as if her head was lowered, this time, a large smile spread across the Preceptor's face.

"Naturally, this is my duty."

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