38 The Value Of Beauty

"If you really want to talk, you should stop getting suprised by every single thing," I said to Vera.

"I apologize, but I do no think the blame is on me," she sighed, "your words are just too shocking."

"I'm just saying. It's not fun talking, if all you do is react."

"Really, I'm having a lot of fun though," she giggled.

I grabbed Veras head and ruffled her hair with my hands and said, "don't have fun on your own," as she was a lot taller than me, she had to bend down quite a bit, but we managed to work it out.

"Alright, alright, I've understood," she shouted, while grabbing my hands, laughing.

I let go and told her, "it's good that you did."

She smoothed her hair back into her original bob-style. Meanwhile she replied, "but I find it interesting to hear what an Archduke has to say. I don't get many chances to do so."

"I'm not much different than other people."

"Yes, excuse me, but I strongly disagree with that sentiment," she said in a sharp tone.

I scowled, "hey, that's rude," and looked at her with a sullen expression, my eyes upturned while my brows went downwards.

"I apologize," Vera said and she suddenly grabbed me by my waist and lifted me up. She hugged me tightly and even though I tried pushing her away, I couldn't escape.

"Hey, stop doing that," I yelled while pulling her face away from mine.

"Yes, yes, I apologize," she answered monotonously. Her actions did not line up with what she said, as she only held me tighter.

"Stop apologizing too."

"But you are so cute. Stop being cute, and I will stop apologizing."

"Where did all your respect a minute ago disappear to?"

"This and that are two different things. How do you expect me to hold back after you gave me permission to dress you in these exquisite clothes?" She argued," anyways, I won't compromise," and began walking with me in her hands.

Ah. At that time, the only thing that went through my mind was that I shouldn't have let this woman choose my outfit.

I kicked my feet out and with a high-pitched voice said, "I'm not a child, let me walk on my own."

Without listening, she replied, "yes, yes," and patted my head.

I swung my arms in the air, but she just kept stroking my hair with an enigmatic smile. What did that girl eat to possess that kind of strength?

After a while, I just stopped struggling and let her carry me around.

Vera too seemed quite fond of the idea and showed no signs of rejections when I let myself fall into her arms, spiritlessly.

At the very least, I wasn't following others around anymore, so that wasn't too bad. And the feeling of her soft body squishing against mine, while she walked for me also wasn't too bad either.

No, I wasn't trying to make excuses.

"That's for ruffling my hair," she said while snuggling her face into the back of my head, "ah, so cute," she mumbled.

"Your assertiveness makes me a bit embarrassed."

"Huh," she was astounded, "could it be that you are weak against these kind of attacks? That's a big shock."

I twisted my head upwards and faced her with my big, blue eyes, close enough for our noses to touch. "Don't tell anyone," I told her, with my little fangs showing out of my mouth.

"I'm afraid I can't follow that order," she said with unusual passion, "it would be treacherous to not display your cuteness."

"Uhm, aren't you exaggerating?"

"No, not at all, I believe beauty is justice," she kneaded my cheeks while her breathing turned coarse, "artistic value lies not in their symbolism, but their beauty. So to properly display it's worth, there needs to be people who appreciate it without any guidance."

"Even so, I feel like you are appreciating me a tad bit too much."

"No, no, that's just your imagination, true art cannot be overpraised, "she stretched my cheeks like bread dough, "or do you believe otherwise?"

"I think," I clasped my hands around her face, "everyone values art differently, don't they? Some would say art lies in their decadence, others in their representation of life and nature. There are also some people like you that say it's their aesthetic value, which is important."

"What is it that you think," she asked, entirely focused on the next words I would utter.

"Eh, I don't really know a lot about art," I tried to shrug, but couldn't as she held onto me tightly.

Not satisfied with my answer, she continued, "surely there must be something by which you judge their value with."

I thought about it, moving my head around a few times, while Vera waited attentively, only her footsteps making a light clacking noise.

I squeezed one hand out of her embrace and connected my thumb and index finger into a cricle, while my other fingers extended away, forming a gesture commonly known as an 'ok'.

"Money," I answered bluntly.

She loosened her grip and like a flower she wilted away, "that is such an uninspiring answer," she groaned.

"Hey, hold onto me properly," I meanwhile shouted, "I'm falling, I'm falling!" For some reason she wasn't paying attention, so I clung to her waist as not to land on the floor, "I was joking, Vera," I kept shouting.

Snapping out of her daze, she quickly grabbed onto me, "geez, you shouldn't make these kind of jokes."

I wasn't joking though. She expected too much from me.

The only thing I knew about art pieces were their monetary value. The job of creating forgeries and replicas was delegated to a friend of mine. I was the trickster in our group, not the artist.

However, Vera was in luck. Because one of the things I did specialize in, was identity fraud. And who would be a better person to imitate than that prodigy that turned into the worlds most renowned art forger.

"The value of art lies in its value," I announced, much to Vera's confusion.

"What is that supposed to mean," she raised an eyebrow, and her lashes fluttered incessantly.

"Well, art is, in all aspects, a subjective creation, so therefore has no accurate way to judge it. If there was anyone willing to offer a certain price, then it is worth that price. The nature of such payment is irrelevant. It could be money, gold, time or soul. Then if the price was for the spectator to decide, its value should be too."

"Then how do you determine whether something is beautiful or not."

"Every artist no matter what they believe in, try to create a work which they themselves find beautiful. If you find that point and can judge the art on their values, you can determine what is beautiful and what isn't."

And if you get even better, you'll be able to recreate those works yourself. But that was not the question here, was it.

"So that's why the value of art lied in its value," she repeated silently.

"Oh, did you get it," I asked, because I genuinely did not.

"Yes, I understood that the value of a art lied in itself and beauty could be found everywhere if you search in the right places," she nodded, "but what I don't get is why some things many people consider beautiful, while other things many do not. If beauty and art is as subjective as you said, then why is that feeling not more spread out. Instead it feels like we have a universal beauty where all creation stems from, but no one really knows what it is."

"You really know how to ask hard questions," I replied.

She struck out her tongue again, telling me not to mind it.

"I think, beauty is supposed to make you feel good. It does not need a long explanation to why it should make you feel that way," I said, "it should take one look and make you stop whatever you are doing to appreciate what you are seeing. If there ever was such a thing as ultimate beauty, it may even be able to stop time, as anything observing it would be halted," I grasped her neck and smiled at her, "that is also were it's value lies, got it?"

As if enlightened, she let out an audible gasp, "yes I got it," she answered, and laughed melodically. Her giddiness did not bode well for my stomach as she began twirling around, looking like she was performing a ball dance, while holding me.

"Stop moving like that, Vera," I requested but again, she did not listen.

"I understood that the you who keeps making me speechless is the cutest in the world," she kept laughing, her pleasant voice resounding through the halls.

"No, I think you missed my point there," I muttered helplessly.

She twirled one more time, making her dress flutter in the winds and said, "nope, I got it."

"Eh, alright if you say so," I replied.

"That was an interesting talk," she patted my head one more time.

"I'm glad you think so," I felt my world spinning and tried to support my vision by focusing on the ground, "but next time, if you need something, don't use such a roundabout way of query."

Vera flinched, "huh, what are you implying," she asked timidly.

"I mean, you wanted to take a walk so you could talk about magic with me right?"

"Ah, you found out," she said, her voice cracking under the guilt.

"Of course I did. I know how a conversation works, and I especially can tell if someone tries to skew into a topic they want to talk about."

"Pardon me," Vera replied and hid her face in embarrassment, "I just wanted to know what someone like you would think about the philosophy I follow."

"I don't mind, just hold onto me properly," I urged her, as her strength faded away again, "was it helpful?"

"Yes, it was."

I wanted to ask her what exactly her philosophy was, but was suddenly cut short.

I found myself interrupted by a man with long, black hair and blue eyes who locked eyes with me as we turned around the corner.

"What, Agnes is that you," he said, first with a voice of shock, afterwards with maliciousness.

Oh boy, not again.