Helo

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11 am
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions: The whole theater

---

Gods, he is such a momma’s boy. Callum watched as Wulfric ignored him in favor of trying to reason calmly with the vicious thing that liked to call herself a mother.

Briefly, he glanced at Alibeth; hatred flashed and seethed behind dark, tinted glasses. His jaw clenched as he tried to resist the urge to shout at both the queen and the crowned prince. Alibeth’s voice, the same voice that admitted to wanting Darryn dead, the same voice that had tried to condemn him to it once before, was a sound that made his skin crawl with disgust. But Wulfric, pandering to her, trying to reason with such a vile thing as if she were even worth the breath…

How can he not see it? He wondered of his brother. The pain of Darryn’s loss had been vividly displayed on that stage, but it did not exist in a vacuum. What about the pain of knowing the thing that calls itself your mother had your friend tortured? For something you did. Wanted him executed. Was glad he was dead.

When had Alibeth ever treated Ana any better than how Edin treated him?

As quickly as his rage flared up, it was reduced to a dull ache. Callum was thankful his familiar had eaten away some of that anger, enough to keep him calm. His attention returned to the stage as Fritz, the damn near impossible not to like stranger he’d once called Barry, began to sing.

What began as a haunting melody quickly spread through the crowd like a fire. A good fire, one that made him think of warmth and community - like the bonfire Roman and Mina had lit days before.

The monkey gently swayed its head and closed its eyes. As Clarence’s voice commented on the delightful swirl of flavors that the emotions of the crowd exuded, Callum could only agree. It was the depths of human experience as a crowd became a chorus, and that chorus sang as one.

The finale continued to dazzle and captivate. It all concluded with a bang, a rainfall of colorful confetti, and roaring applause. Then the spotlight shone on the royal box.

Callum found himself startled by the snap of a fan. He turned and was surprised to see Morrigan was there - had she been here this whole time? He wasn’t sure.

“This is a good chance to practice your rhetoric.”

His attention turned to Wulfric, who seemed effortlessly comfortable with basking in the spotlight. He almost could’ve used Wulfric’s time on stage with performers as the perfect distraction to just sneak out of the theater…

“...always the first to leave a good time.”

But Callum Danrose, sure as shit, would not let himself be known as the second person to leave a good time. Instead, he waited for the crowd to settle following the end of Wulfric’s speech.

<Yes our turn. The spotlight. The eyes. All of them watching you. Watching me.> Clarence lept for its seat to the railing and bowed with a flourish while gesturing toward those on stage. Callum stood from his seat and addressed the crowd, shouting just loud enough for his voice to echo through the theater.

“Shahzade Farim and the majestic Thara, you’ve added wonder to our day. Lord Drake, you not only make Caesonia proud, but that last piece you played left a spark of hope in all who heard it. Kazumin, not only did you delight us all with your story, but you have brightened our faithful king’s day. Duke Lorenzo…” He paused, a smile widened over his face as he pointed towards the duke and shook his head.

“You broke my heart with your words, and I love you for that. But what I loved even more? That everyone finally got to hear the beautiful melodies that have blessed the palace for as long as I can remember. Ana, I am so proud to call you family.” He gave a quick wave to his sister.

You are the best of us. Callum whispered so quietly that even he couldn’t hear it.

“And Count Hendrix, you managed to inspire most of the crowd to find their voice and unite all these voices as one. What better note to end a charity event on? A big thank you to everyone who attended, everyone who displayed their talent, to Princess Anastasia and Count Hendrix for making it all happen…” He paused again to turn and gesture to Edin.

“And to King Edin, a god among men, the shining talent from The Festival of Lights in ‘36, who is responsible for everything in glorious Caesonia.” He smiled and clapped for Edin, the monkey did the same, and soon the crowd did too.

“See you at dinner, father.” Callum dipped his head respectfully as he exited the box, Clarence following a step behind him.

<Boring but mostly unoffensive. An improvement for you.>

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions: Wulfric @SilverPaw

---

“How could I possibly not make time for my little brother? I can pencil you in for the day after tomorrow…”

“I’ll be there,” Callum responded before Wulfric had finished speaking. He didn’t think about it for a moment, just jumped at the opportunity half out of fear that Wulfric was joking. Hunting trip? He should’ve taken the other offer. Look how incompetent I am brother. Watch me trip over a stick.

His mind was suddenly infiltrated by the sounds of what had to be hundreds of chickens.

I’m not a chicken.

<Then do not SQWUAK as one. It is annoying.>

The performances continued. He wondered what a hunting trip with Wulfric would be like and if the bird would be doing all the hunting. He’d much rather watch a falcon be a falcon than show his brother how he could barely manage to handle a bow. Or a gun.

He certainly didn’t feel any better when Wulfric pointed out that Ana was also a woman. Callum said nothing, only offered a half-hearted shrug but he noticed how quick Wulfric was to defend Ana. And it stung how none of that extended to him. Not even a ‘hey Callum doesn’t smell that bad today’. He wondered if Wulfric just liked being the golden child.

“I wonder how long this one can last before he lands himself on the execution block.”

The monkey’s cackle filled his head. <Your brother is amusing!> Callum didn’t quite get the joke that Clarence saw in Wulfric’s words. He did find it funny how the potential for one to end up on the execution block hadn’t seemed to matter before. Not when it was Darryn.

“How long? As long as he does a good job, and doesn’t disappoint the crown. That is how this all works, right?” His voice left him like a shrug, a breeze that didn’t care where it went so long as it rustled the leaves. Callum wondered why he didn’t care what happened to the puppet dancer, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like Edin sought his advice or approval for anything.

Lorenzo’s performance was captivating; as bold and strange as the man. When the Duke asked the audience to hold their idea of love in their hearts, Callum thought of unwavering loyalty, unconditional support, and sacrifice. The way it was in stories, and he wondered if he’d ever really loved anyone like that before.

He had never seen Lorenzo so clearly. As the second stanza told of how love had become a weapon against the poor Duke, Cal thought of his childhood. Of being trapped in a family that had so little love to offer and who only rationed it out to their benefit.

Then came lines about love from a bottle. His heartstrings were tugged and his eyes watered at Lorenzo’s words. Whiskey was love. Always there, always a comfort, always easing the pain.

<Pathetic. Both of you. Pathologically.>

Shut up.

“Heaven? Hell? It mattered not on which door…”

As the petal fell, Callum was on his feet wiping a few tears from his face.

<You will not...>

He ignored the monkey and applauded the great poet Lorenzo, a man who had shown the audience his soul and who had made at least one person feel less alone.

Then, Ana closed out the show. He smiled warmly as she brought up Darryn and he relaxed into the somber notes from her cello. It was beautiful and honest, but more than that, it brought life back into Darryn's memory.

“Weak…She makes herself look weak. And worse—she makes us look weak.”

Alibeth’s voice grated against his ears, such a jarringly ugly thing to hear after such a beautiful song. Once the soft applause for his sister had finished, he turned to Wulfric.

“Ana really is something special.” Cal spoke to Wulfric, looked only at Wulfric, but was not quite with his tone. “It’s no wonder that our people truly love her, I think it’s in her willingness to show how much heart she has. Brave thing to do in this world.” He studied his brother, wondering if Wulfric would contradict Alibeth to support Anastasia.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions: Wulfric @Silverpaw& Edin @princess

---

"Finally! Something worth listening to out of your mouth, boy!"

<Sucess!> A voice proud and boastful filled Callum’s mind. The faintest crumb of praise was tossed his way. By Edin. Not even Cal could hide his shock. The familiar hopped over to the seat next to Callum, where it stayed content and still.

“Tell me, son—does it bathe? Or is it filthy just like you?”

Edin returned to the expected responses. As discretely as he could, Cal attempted to sniff at himself but he had bathed today. Thoroughly, to ensure not a trace of ink from his spell remained on his skin.

“Good point. I will see to it that the monkey is bathed regularly.” He replied softly.

But his head quickly snapped away from sniffing at himself when Edin agreed to let him keep the monkey. That worked??

<Of course it worked. What does your father see? When he looks at you?> The monkey did not wait for the mortal to slowly piece things together, it pulled the image of King George from the boy’s memories.

<He looks at you. He sees George. He desires superiority. Give him that. Use that face. Twist how he sees you. George; under his control. George; asking for his permission. George; working for his approval. Then, Edin believes he has won.> Clarence rewarded the witch’s obedience with clarity.

“A MASTERPIECE!”

<This…puppet dance…drivel! Better ending: puppet slays the offending mortal!>

Callum was caught between wanting to defend the touching performance and his disgust at the thought of agreeing with Edin.

“I must have him at the banquet tonight! No—NO! I MUST OWN HIM!”

<Agree with him.>

“A wonderful idea.” Callum offered. With a grin, he continued “I must admit, a talented court jester makes an even more impressive pet than a monkey.” He almost felt bad about encouraging the idea and what it would mean for the dancer. The sentiment was quickly eased from his mind. As if carried away by a faint and imperceptible breeze.

Clarence smiled, the taste of a bitter thought lingered on the familiar’s tongue after it had been devoured.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

6 months earlier (A flashback from Leo's Bodyguard)

Martin Barnaby

Time: Night
Location: Small town outside Stravy
Interactions: Leo

---

Decay clung thickly to the air. A partially covered body lay supine and partially covered on a table. Bloated. Rotting. Stinking. Its face was barely recognizable as human, features bulging in grotesque ways. The sight of corpses and their varying states of decay had become an ongoing part of his job.

Minutes stretched on as the young lord stared unblinking, and unreachable, at the features of the corpse.

Martin placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. The dim lighting paired with plumes of smoke from the enforcement officer’s cigar left a haze around them, playing tricks on the eyes. The bodyguard pictured Leo as a kid, the same gangly teen who desired nothing more than his father’s attention. Instead, the boy got free reign to travel with a bodyguard as Feralt prioritized everything but time with his son.

“Fella’s been rottin’ out in the woods for a looong while. Could be your missin’ duke.” The officer’s cigar puffed. “So ‘bout that reward…”

Martin’s gaze was sharp enough to cut the man off.

“It’s not him.” Leo spoke up, his voice shaky but certain.

Terrible burden, Martin thought for the dozenth or so time, for a kid. Searching for his father’s face in the dead. Martin offered a bag of coins to the enforcement officer for his troubles and his silence.

“Best if no one knew we were here.” Martin only turned away from the officer once the man nodded his understanding. Greedy hands immediately picked through the coin bag, the jingling echoed in a small village morgue as Martin ushered his employer out the backdoor. The men walked in silence back to the carriage.

Martin offered only a curt headshake to the driver. The Duke had not been found. For a long while, only the clomping of hooves and the rolling of wheels were heard, as the two men headed home. Once more without an answer.

“Is it wrong that I’m disappointed?” Leo broke the silence, eyes affixed to the window, watching the trees as they rolled by.

“No,” Martin responded.

“I don’t want him to be dead.” Leo insisted.

“You just want an answer,” Martin understood.

The silence soon returned, and with it, Martin’s mind wandered.

“I had this made for you.”
The kid offered up a necklace with a fang dangling from it. Martin held it up to the light with a faint smile.

“It’s from that wolf I killed, remember?”

“Of course, m’lord,”
Martin wasn’t inclined to forget wolves attacking their camp, or the way the kid had fought alongside the other men. Being an apt hunter was useful. A willingness to protect those who traveled with you was something to take great pride in.
“A true act of bravery.”

“I wasn’t afraid at all!”

Martin nodded his approval and said nothing of the boy’s small lie. Being afraid and not running away was a more impressive feat, even if the kid didn't quite grasp that yet. He knew what Leo had intended to do with the pelt of the wolf he killed, and waited for the boy to bring up the inevitable.

“I told father all about it. And…well he didn’t want the pelt. He’s right, of course, a scrawny wolf wouldn’t make a proper rug. But he said that maybe, if I could bring him back a bear next time, he’d consider it.”

Martin hid his disappointment in the duke with practiced ease,
“And you’re sure you don’t want this. To remember how brave you were?”

“No, I want you to have it. Never could done it without your training.”
The boy patted the still-healing bite wound at his shoulder; both with a wince and all the pride of one who had survived the dangers the forests could throw at a man.
“Got my reminder, right here.”

“My very own genuine wolf tooth! Gifted by a future duke! A real treasure!”
Martin slipped the necklace on, the kid’s smile only strengthened the sentiment. It was that easy and Feralt could not bothered to do the same.

It was hard not to wonder if a father like Feralt deserved so much devotion. Leo's expression was unreadable and Martin could only wonder when that’d happened. There was a time when it took no effort to see through him.

“Do you think it’s true?” Leo asked.

The lines on his forehead deepened. “Yes, I think he might be dead,” Martin answered. It seemed the most likely scenario.

“Not that.” There was a long pause before the young lord realized that Martin was not the mind reader he once was. Leo studied Martin's eyes as the young lord continued. “About my mother. Being involved. It makes sense; the only thing she cares about right now is planning her wedding.” Hate hardened Leo’s voice.

“I hope not.” His words were heavy with sincerity because it would break the kid to know his mother inflicted so much pain.

“Can you tell me it’s not true, even if you think it is,” Leo asked. His gaze returned to the window.

“A mother wouldn’t do that to her child. Watch you suffer with not knowing every day.” Martin answered as truthfully as the request allowed. Leo’s features seemed to relax some, he’d taken the statement the way he needed to in the moment.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Sorian Art Gallery
Interactions: Milo St. Claire @PapaOso & Mina @Tae

Attire

---

Lord Amar…

Bey Amar. Rohit corrected in his mind, but he didn’t bother to mention such a petty complaint. Close enough, lord was Caesonia’s equivalent, it was just less pleasing to the ear. Lord Amar had such a harsh sound to it while Bey Amar flowed from the tongue, and felt inviting. But shouldn’t an artist, a bonafide genius at that, understand the importance of the right words? How they flowed, the texture of the sound…I certainly didn’t call myself a lord. I didn’t even say Bey, just plain ol’ Rohit Amar. Which also sounds rather nice, Rohit Amar…” Rohit’s mind followed a loose strand of thought and wandered away with it.

"What did you see in there, truly? Beyond the paint. Beyond the bite of that so-called entity."

Oh…shit… Here he was, talking to Milo St. Claire and he was barely listening. Daydreaming about how his name sounded. Rohit, you are an absolute buffoon. A narcissistic buffoon. He smiled and nodded his head to Milo’s words.

"Did it show you anything of yourself?"

Bless his luck, Milo’s question was on a subject a narcissistic buffoon was well-equipped to answer.

“Of myself, in your paintings…” He said, slowly, buying himself a second to try and regather his thoughts from the wind. “The Whisper, for instance, that feeling of a darkness that just… saturates…to a point that it feels alive and inescapable. I’ve never felt that, anything like that. And I wonder how deeply can I truly appreciate the light if I’ve never felt its absence? Or the Weight of Wanting, what is it like to have a desire that’s all-consuming? That rips away at you? To have pieces torn off only for something new to grow in their place? I don’t know. I saw myself in the sculptures, trapped in one moment, a good moment, nearly perfectly content, but without movement. Etched in something that doesn’t allow movement, or change, or the chance to stumble while dancing…” His stream-conscious ramble was cut short.

Ironically by another’s stumble.

A flash of red, a wave of fluttering obsidian, and the scent of roses crashed against him. Rohit followed the movement, one arm wrapped around a waist and the other grabbed a hand, as he swiftly pulled the stumbling dancer back to her feet. He flashed a thankful smile at the woman who had inadvertently saved him from embarrassing himself further.

“How marvelous, we were just discussing dancing, and then you appeared.” He released the woman and bowed as they did in Alidasht, with grace and respect. “Bey Rohit Amar,” He introduced himself, delighting in how his name flowed and mixed with the sound of softly strumming harps.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions: Wulfric @SilverPaw, Edin, & Alibeth @princess

---

“Where on earth did you obtain a monkey?”

Callum found himself tickled by how annoyed Alibeth sounded. If only she knew. He grinned to himself, popped a piece of fruit into his mouth, and refrained from even glancing in Alibeth’s direction. He focused in on Farim's performance, as the ancient spirit disguised as a monkey rifled through his thoughts.

“I did not take you one for pets,”

He casually glanced at Wulfric and offered a smile. “Thought I’d try something new.” His reply was uncharacteristically chipper. “Reinvent myself.”

“A monkey… How is it that he has a monkey and I do not? I’m the king! If anyone deserves a monkey…It’s me.”...
"He bows! Did you see that?!"

Edin’s jealousy was palpable, an unexpected twist from a king who normally despised animals but Clarence's charm was undeniable. The spirit delighted in the spotlight and its presence made Cal feel more at ease than he'd ever been while surrounded by the people who made him the most uncomfortable.

<Ha! I have already impressed your father! See, not hard. Just be a well-behaved monkey.> It was not the kind of guidance Cal expected, or even thought he'd heed, but it certainly was something he hadn’t tried before. Clarence turned its head towards the king and smiled at him, an enchanting twinkle in the animal's bright eyes. Callum offered the warmest smile he could muster as he glanced at Edin.

“...Clarence is a ridiculous name… And he smells.”

<Your sire is one to talk, he reeks of old milk and unearned arrogance...> Not even ancient spirits were immune to pettiness but the monkey merely cocked its head as if it could not understand the words.

“This is not a petting zoo, Callum-”

He quietly ate his fruit and acted as if her words could not reach him. A sarcastic reply was swallowed down with a bite of strawberry. He kept his eyes on Thara, his mind stayed distracted by Clarence, and his mother's words dissolved away.

“I like birds.” What had been a slip of the tongue, a reply that should’ve stayed a thought rather than an utterance - became an opportunity.

"Do you? You could always take up falconry. Or perhaps pigeon racing would be more to your taste?"

Callum, sluggishly, turned his head towards Wulfric and nodded. “Always liked birds...way they fly...looks so free. Like nothing can weigh them down.” He whispered in a wistful and dreamlike tone.

<Enough bird sentiment! Engage with the important brother.> Clarence dug deeper into his mind. It was almost unbearable; the sensation of something digging and clawing its way around in his deepest thoughts and memories. Callum's sunglasses hid the watering of his eyes.

“You like falconry, right Wulfy?” He asked, forcing himself to focus, to engage even through the haze and pain clouding his thoughts. “Maybe you could give me a lesson. If you ever have the time.” He asked in a hushed voice as a hint of something bitter crept in.

Suddenly, Callum felt as small and frail as he had once been. A lonely child who longed for his eldest brother to include him, in anything, but always been too afraid and too proud to even ask. So Cal had taught himself to despise the very presence of someone who felt too far away, unreachable. Those long-buried moments were violently pulled to the front of his mind. He turned his attention back to Farim and the falcon, applauding at the end of their performance.

Drake took the stage next and Cal tried to focus on the music. He let the melody wash over him and willed it to drown out the sound of Edin's ego as the man rambled about some forgotten festival. Clarence seemed to enjoy this performance more than the last; the monkey no longer dug about in Callum's thoughts but bobbed his head to the tune.

“Has anyone uncovered why the guests at Lord Edwards’ previous party were so… inebriated?”

“There was a strong alcoholic drink the guests enjoyed. They became inebriated because they were careless, that is all.”

With his fruit cup now empty, Cal chewed on the inside of his cheek to refrain from speaking up. <No, do it now!> Clarence encouraged. <Remind your mother she means nothing to you.>

Callum feigned a gasp. “The cause of drunkenness...was alcohol consumption!” Cal chuckled as he turned towards Alibeth. “And I obtained my new pet...From. A. Pet. Store.” His words dripped with condescension as he finally acknowledged her earlier question.

“Women ask the silliest questions, don’t they?” Callum asked, smiling, and turning to Edin. A joke tailored to the king’s taste before he turned his attention back to Drake. Soon Edin was dancing to the music, the king's spirit soaring higher than Thara had moments ago.

“Hurrah to Sorian indeed!”
“Only can get that kind of talent from a Caesonia-born!”

<Now, impress your father!>

As Edin shot up with applause, his approval for Drake's performance thundering through the theater, Callum mirrored the king's enthusiasm. Clarence dropped from Cal's shoulder down to the prince's unoccupied seat, and little hands smacked together as the monkey squealed with delight.

Once the crowd was done cheering, Cal again turned to face his father. “Father,” Callum began, somehow managing not to choke on the word. “I got Clarence here because I’ve heard caring for a pet can help teach responsibility. A skill I’m lacking. And I’m already beginning to understand your great burden; caring for every life here in Caesonia. I plan to teach him many amusing tricks and, as you can see, he is already well-mannered. May I please keep him?” He kept his voice soft and respectful as he asked Edin, for the first time in years, for his permission.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Sorian Art Gallery
Interactions: Milo St. Claire @PapaOso

Attire

---

“...Caught in the jaws of an entity they couldn’t quite escape,” Rohit repeated the phrase thoughtfully. “That entity has quite the bite.” He winked as his hand shot forth, the gold around his wrist rattled with the swift movement. The warm lighting glistened against his jade and gold ring as he shook the artist’s hand. Mahogany eyes regarded Milo as a captivating work of art that nearly rivaled the collection displayed around the gallery. “Rohit Amar; admirer of masterpieces.” He introduced himself with a smile that matched Milo’s warmth as he released the artist’s precious hand. The very thing that had crafted every awe-inspiring creation here.

“You, sir, are a talent unlike any I’ve seen. Managing to find something sublime in the darkest places. Painted it all in a way that brought me to the brink of understanding things I have never quite felt. It's an honor to meet you.” He glanced back at the exhibit he only half-understood and decided that despite the uncomfortable nature of the work, he would need to revisit it on another day, once his thoughts had settled some. Once was not enough to fully grasp it all.

“If I were to walk through that room alone I think I might weep from the overwhelming emotions you’ve captured.” He looked back at Milo, someone so bright, warm, and composed. It was easy to imagine the man in front of him crafting the portraits and sculptures he’d seen, but a challenge to envision him being consumed by the darkness of The Whisper. Nearly impossible to see Milo as the figure who sat so hopelessly alone, surrounded by shattered things, close to being lost in a dying light. But who else could the subject of such a personal piece be, but the artist himself? He continued speaking even as his thoughts wandered.

“I almost envy the depths of your experience, as odd as that sounds. To envy another’s suffering, as if privilege has robbed me of something I should desire...” He paused. A sudden thought crossed his mind. Rohit related more closely to the sculptures than anything else he’d seen; something frozen in a single moment and unable to continue a dance.

“Ah, there I go. Rambling on about myself, apologies, Mr. St. Claire. Enjoying your big day? Basking in your well-earned spotlight?” Rohit asked shifting into a more pleasant exchange.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Sorian Art Gallery
Interactions: The Array of Artistic Masterpieces

---

The Sorian Art Gallery was a sprawling place, if not for the massive turnout Rohit thought it might feel lonely and overwhelming but for now it was packed with people excited to see a fresh exhibit. While towering pillars and expansive archways made him feel small by comparison, the masses packed inside reminded him of crowded markets back home. Lost in a sea of people, all buzzing with excitement. He found that feeling comforting as he wandered in a space that felt almost daunting.

He slowly made his way to portraits, the crowds ensuring that everyone had no choice but to look at the pieces around them as people slowly shuffled forward. He studied faces that looked delightfully lifelike; some he’d only heard of but never seen, some he’d caught glimpses of at Lord Drake’s birthday, and even a few he’d met back home. Of those he knew well, he could confidently say their portraits captured their essence with skillful precision. Brushstrokes highlighted their best features and the soft lighting made them glow with warmth.

The sculpture gallery felt like a display of dancers frozen in a single moment. Soft and suggestive curves of feminine figures twisted in elegant poses, perched atop pedestals commanded attention and gave life and movement to marble. It took little effort to imagine the dance each sculpture might have continued if only some force could awaken them. Rohit liked this exhibit even better than the portraits, each sculpture looked so free and uninhibited, lost in the ecstasy of their dance. It was no wonder the artist had drawn such a large crowd; his work was perfection.

Reflections of Reverie was a different experience; a collection of paintings that felt disturbing and hard to look at. His eyes scanned the confusing imagery of a piece titled Truth’s Bloom. It spoke of something deeply sad and he found himself not wanting to stare at it for very long. The artist seemed so successful, so talented, and Rohit could only wonder what inspired such sorrow to flow from his brush. The Whisper showed a figure being consumed by darkness, a helpless and hopeless depiction that reminded him of death or at least inevitability. He didn’t particularly like looking at it but found it hard to look away. The darkness felt almost alive, a consuming force hard to overcome.

Soon another piece caught his eye, he liked the shades of crimsons and purples that flowed across its canvas. The Weight of Wanting; here hands seemed to move and flow about the canvas, violently prying and grabbing about. He tried to imagine wanting anything so desperately but could not. He thought it looked like the ugliness of greed, or maybe the artist’s need for success. Elegy for the Living at least conveyed something he could easily grasp in concept if not in scope. The figure was lonely, that was clear, but the crushing horror of that loneliness was so extreme. Everything around the figure was broken and the painted light felt like it was dying. Maybe the darkness from The Whisper had invaded this painting too. Rohit felt the work’s sorrow deep within his chest and found himself profoundly grateful that he’d never felt such crushing isolation.

Hushed voices around him conveyed a variety of opinions and even a few condemnations of the nature of the art. It was more than just flawless technique capturing beauty as the other works had been. This exhibit painfully displayed the artist's tormented soul for all to see, raw and unflinching. Rohit supposed the stereotype of the tortured artist was true for Milo St. Claire and hoped that painting offered the artist a great deal of catharsis. Relief washed over him as he exited that exhibit; it was too bleak to call enjoyable.