Blank 2

I hurried along, my steps quickening as I tried to catch up to Sei, who was striding ahead with purpose. His determined pace made it clear that he had a mission in mind.

When I finally caught up to him, I found him hunched over a lock, deftly picking it with practiced precision. A mixture of surprise and amusement washed over me, and I couldn't help but comment, "Picking locks, huh? I was expecting something more outlandish and thrilling. Like snapping your fingers and the lock falling open, or you flying us both into the building."

As expected, he disregarded my teasing remark, and with a satisfying click, the lock surrendered, granting us access.

We stepped inside, crossing the threshold into what appeared to be a sprawling garden. However, it quickly became apparent that this garden was merely the gateway to a grand mansion, its corridors stretching out endlessly before us, lined with countless closed doors.

Side by side, we walked in silence, the weight of the quiet becoming suffocating. It was in that stifling silence that Sei finally broke the tension, his voice cutting through the air like a whisper of intrigue. "Have you ever taken a life?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but whisper-scream in alarm, "What? Are you planning on killing someone?"

"Hush!" Sei admonished.

Suddenly, the echoing sound of hurried footsteps reverberated through the hallway, causing us both to freeze in our tracks, eyes wide with apprehension.

Sei turned to me, his gaze laced with a mixture of frustration and blame, silently conveying that I had, once again, managed to get us into trouble.

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"Why do we keep scrutinizing all these paintings? It's utterly exhausting," I complained, frustration seeping into my voice. We had been at it for an hour now, meticulously examining each artwork.

Sei remained silent, his earlier irritation lingering in the air. I suppose he was still upset about our close call in the hallway. We managed to evade detection, so what was the fuss all about?

We had sneaked into this room when we heard thunderous footsteps, but luck was a fickle companion. As we stood there, unnoticed by the passing individuals who I suspected were heavily built and heavily armed men, I tried to convince myself that their lack of attention was a fortunate stroke of serendipity. Yet, a nagging feeling persisted within me, reminding me that it was likely just false hope. There was something uncanny about Sei, something that made me believe his claims of being more than human. Perhaps he possessed some uncanny ability or a clever trick that allowed us to remain undetected. Nevertheless, I couldn't shake off the unease that gripped me, keeping me on edge and ready to bolt at the faintest sign of trouble.

I tentatively suggested that we leave and come back another time, although I knew it was a futile plea. I had no intention of returning, and he was no fool to fall for my deceptive words. He simply ignored my plea, and I didn't dare bring it up again. Offending someone as imposing as Sei was the last thing I wanted to do.

Glancing at the painting before me, I couldn't fathom the exorbitant prices such artworks commanded. I had no understanding of the world of paintings, nor did I grasp why people would spend millions to possess one.

For instance, the one I currently scrutinized depicted an old man sitting and gazing out of his window, but the picture failed to evoke any emotions within me. It was an underwhelming piece, lacking the artistic allure I had anticipated.

Raising my head, I noticed Sei stepping into another room, and curiosity propelled me to follow suit. Upon entering, I found myself struck by a sense of awe. This was what I had been yearning for.

The paintings adorning the walls in this room were exquisite, breathtakingly beautiful. They spoke of ancient history, and my heart leaped with joy, particularly because Greek history held a special place in my heart.

My fingers grazed the surface of a painting, marveling at its realistic depiction. Instantly, I recognized the subject as Hera, the goddess of Marriage and Childbirth. She exuded regal grace, befitting her role as the queen of the gods and the wife of Zeus.

Adjacent to Hera's painting were depictions of Zeus's two sons, Apollo and Ares. Apollo, the god of the sun and archery, radiated a captivating beauty, making it evident why he was often described as handsome.

However, as I shifted my attention to the other painting, a frown marred my face. Justice needed to be done to this portrayal of Ares.

Ares, the son of Zeus and Hera, was the god of war. His reputation for inflicting chaos, bloodshed, and destruction preceded him. In stark contrast, his sister, the armored Athena, embodied military strategy and generalship. From what I knew, Ares was not a particularly likable god and even faced humiliation during the Trojan War.

"Come over here," Sei commanded, his authoritative voice pulling me from my musings.

Here we go again, I thought, rolling my eyes in response to his dominance. It was at odds with my enjoyment of Greek history.

Reluctantly obeying his order, I approached him to see what had captured his attention. As I shifted my gaze, the magnificent beauty of Artemis, the goddess of the moon and the hunt, greeted me.

"She's beautiful, just like you," Sei remarked, and a flicker of delight warmed my heart at the rare compliment.

But then he added, "But..."

Oh, sweet Jesus! I should have known there would be a catch following that momentary joy.

"You're nothing like her," he concluded.

He truly knew how to dampen my spirits. What an absolute asshole.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not a goddess," I retorted defensively.

"But you're more than a goddess," he continued, his words perplexing me.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. More than a goddess? What did he mean by that?

Artemis was unlike me in every way. With her auburn hair and silver eyes that reflected the moon, she possessed an ethereal grace that I could never hope to emulate.

Sei reached out and removed the painting of Artemis from its place on the wall. I flinched, half-expecting an alarm to blare in protest. The sound of the canvas tearing sent a shiver down my spine, and before I knew it, I had instinctively grabbed the painting from his hand.

Grinding my teeth in frustration, I longed to unleash a tirade of angry words, but I couldn't. So instead, I settled for slapping his arm in exasperation.

"Do you have any idea how much this painting might be worth? I may not know the exact value, but I'm certain it's worth a fortune. I've only just managed to pay off my college debts, and now you want to ruin my life?" I ranted, my voice filled with a mix of anger and despair.

He rolled his eyes in response.

"You rolled your eyes? Did you really just roll your stupid eyes at me?" I seethed, hitting him again in frustration.

"Calm down. It's a fake. The original might be worth around 5 million dollars, but since it's a replica, it would be worth significantly less," he explained, his words causing my heart to momentarily stop.

Million dollars? Good Lord!

He snatched the painting back from me, returning his attention to his earlier task. I could only stare in horror as the damaged canvas revealed another painting hidden beneath.

To my astonishment, the face that stared back at me was none other than my grandmother's.