[@13org]
[quote][color=6ecff6]"What do you mean by 'absurdly high-heeled'? They're not that long!"[/color] Miwa replied, huffing in a similar way Verdant had just a moment ago, before recomposing herself.

[color=6ecff6]"A-anyways! These are a traditional footwear from where I come, called [i]Geta[/i]. They might look a bit uncomfortable but when you get accustomed with them, they are quite practical. The very fact they aren't made of a flexible material means water and dirt won't get flung unto the back of your legs when you're walking in wet terrain. They also help to keep one's feet and clothes, especially longer ones, dry and clean."[/color] Miwa explained, using her own skirt as an example when mentioning 'longer' clothes.

[color=6ecff6]"Despite being practical, part of the reason why I wear them is also because they are somewhat of a tradition for young Mikos. Like children, who also wear high-heeled getas instead of normal, shorter heeled ones, young mikos usually wear them to remind them that despite being miko apprentices, they, much like children, still have much to learn."[/color] Miwa said, explaining a bit of her culture and some of the traditions from her temple with a satisfied expression.

[color=6ecff6]"See? It has nothing to do with making myself look taller or anything. It's about tradition and practicality!"[/color] Miwa said, concluding her explanation despite no one having said anything about her using high-heeled shoes to make herself look taller.[/quote]

The ancient being smiled. Amused when Miwa went all technical and passionate about her getups, explaining all of their significances, values, and cultural symbolism. His jab at the heels was a mere jest, but the Curator quickly recognized his impudence. 

[i][b]"I see now..."[/b][/i] he said, calmly. A bit too friendly that Jazdia instinctively peeked from behind the book she was reading. [i][b]"I apologize for my impertinence and ignorance about your tradition, which was very inappropriate of me. It pleases me to hear you celebrating your cultural heritage,"[/b][/i] he placed his hands on his chest and bowed slightly. [i][b]"What was your name, Foreigner from afar?"[/b][/i] he asked as he raised his chin. 

[color=6ecff6]"Shirakawa Miwa, the dutiful Miko." [/color] The Miko makes a small, discreet bow in return, seemingly a silent thanks or acknowledgment. 

Arcan repeated the name. [i][b]"Shirakawa Miwa."[/b][/i] and he nodded, letting the words hang before abruptly addressing her curiosity earlier by walking closer toward the painting, silently beckoning her to follow like a proper curator he was. 

[i][b]"Standing on the right is My Master, Theriadore Shirāthal. A genius artificer and one of the eight statemen who shaped the elves' modern Government after Serensiel's Fall. The one in the middle was his brother, Thealeon Shirāthal. An astute diplomat and charismatic general. Level-headed and... kind. It was the very same kindness that became his undoing." [/b][/i]

Although there was a grim implication by the end of his elaboration, there was no doubt that Arkan spoke about the brothers with overwhelming respect and admiration. 

That was until his gaze fell on the third person in that painting. 

[i][b]"Lythiel Luringwë."[/b][/i] The name escaped him like a curse. 

[i][b]"Was a gullible waif--orphaned by the war. Serensiel took her in as her protégé for a decade, perhaps more, before her death. My master's family took her in out of kindness..."[/b][/i]

His voice hardened. [b][i]"And she repaid them with wickedness."[/i][/b]

[i][b]"If it were up to me, I'd burn this painting to ashes. But apparently, my Master was against such an idea. He willed to have this piece remain hung here. A remainder, perhaps, of the betrayal. Oh, I tell you, he needed a lot of such reminders  when finalizing one of his most fascinating creations."  [/b][/i]

The curator glanced at the cluster of crystal in the corner of the room, where its purplish glow washed over the nearby wall and bookshelves. It was the moment when his voice rang with ominous edge, and a hint of vigilance---sharpened by seventeen centuries of duty--- all etched in his ancient visage.