Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Killing You
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At those words, Asherad's eyes widened. This time, he truly looked shocked.
Daphne had always been the one hurt and shaken by him. Knowing that her words had shaken Asherad brought her a strange sense of elation.
The ugly thrill of omnipotence that she, too, could wound him.
Daphne forced a smile as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Why not just do it now? My feelings don't matter to you anyway."
She shouted. Asherad looked at her fury, then twisted his lips upward. He strode forward and placed a hand on his belt. Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the intimacy to follow.
But he released the belt and left the room. Daphne panted for breath, glaring at the door he had exited through.
She saw what she had been painting. The canvas was torn in half.
Of course, the painting wasn't finished. But the rough base colors outlined the forms of the boy and girl she had met back when she first visited the Imperial Palace.
The memory of that day was still vivid. The Imperial Palace where she had lost her way, and the boy who appeared there.
Even after returning home, she had lain awake for a while, heart pounding. Back then, they had smiled at each other, knowing nothing.
Not being an expert like Artemisia, she couldn't perfectly capture her imagination. She had merely rendered the memory.
If only her mother hadn't done what she did. Couldn't she and Asherad have met in an ordinary way, by some pure chance?
Couldn't they have faced each other and smiled? This man wouldn't have choked her for life.
She knew it was utterly impossible, and that's why she could paint it in her imagination. A picture she meant to keep to herself.
She thought imagining that "what if" would bring her comfort.
That "what if."
Amid the ruined canvases lay the painting Artemisia had left behind. Perhaps recognizing it wasn't hers, it remained untorn. Daphne approached it as if entranced.
A painting of a woman clutching a man's hair and slicing his throat. A widow severing the head of an Asala general who had invaded a Pheneios border city.
But the widow's face was Artemisia's, and the man dying with blood spurting from his severed neck was some man.
"When I was a bit younger and greener. That's the face of the bastard who raped me. My painting teacher, too."
Artemisia had explained the painting softly. When Daphne flinched, Artemisia lifted the corner of her mouth coldly.
"Every time I hated that bastard, I'd paint it over and over."
"......"
"It's like I become the holy Judith."
Artemisia released her pent-up emotions by pressing her hatred firmly into this painting. Even a single bold brushstroke pulsed with vivid hatred and sorrow.
"For some reason, seeing you makes me pity you. As your painting teacher, I feel I should say something."
"......"
"Your skills aren't there yet, so painting something new would be too much. Try painting over this one."
"......Overpainting? If I may, over your painting, miss?"
"Yes. Your homework. Over this."
Artemisia said, looking at the painting.
"Paint your own face and the face of the person you hate most."
Daphne stared blankly at the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut. She realized now what she needed to paint.
She didn't need the escapist painting born from imagining "what ifs." What she needed now was to confront her own emotions.
Daphne righted the fallen easel and placed the painting on it. She hesitated for a moment.
Artemisia had received notice from the Emperor to teach Daphne only until today. Asherad hadn't explicitly stated it. He still provided materials without stint, gave her a room after completing paintings, and treated her generously while she stayed in the Imperial Palace.
Yet the moment she saw Asherad with Daphne, a strange feeling stirred.
That man hid a pitch-black hell in his abyss. A bottomless pit brimming with malice, a somehow empty hell devoid of warm emotions.
And this man wanted to lock his bride in that hell.
His bride, and no one else's.
So the Emperor's notice to work only until today wasn't particularly surprising.
Asherad wanted to "monopolize" Daphne. She thought she might soon have to leave this place, as someone sharing Daphne's world.
Perhaps even die...
She hadn't told Count Leski, but Artemisia somehow sensed it. Asherad exuded an oddly dangerous aura.
Even objectively, hadn't he blackmailed her upon discovering she was the painter Arete? This was the benevolent and valiant Emperor.
She wasn't afraid of Asherad's iron fist.
Artemisia had no particular attachment to life.
Whether because of what happened in her childhood, or because she had burned her soul obsessing over painting because of it, she couldn't say.
"Daphne, it's me."
She deliberately opened the door with a bright voice, thinking Daphne might be downhearted. When no answer came even after knocking, she sensed something off and entered.
Opening the door, Artemisia's eyes widened at the scene.
"This is..."
Paintings were scattered on the floor. Looking closely, it seemed someone had slashed the canvases with a knife.
"Ah!"
As if stabbed herself, Artemisia gazed at the canvas in agony. Daphne couldn't have done it...
Artemisia headed to the back of the room. Daphne stood looking out the window.
"Daphne."
Artemisia called her name. When Daphne turned, Artemisia tilted her head. Objectively, Daphne was beautiful.
Sun-kissed skin, sapphire eyes that seemed to hold tears, shimmering golden hair.
But in Artemisia's eyes, the smiling face felt like the most beautiful work of art. Why was that? Clearly, something had changed.
"What happened to the paintings? Daphne, did you...?"
"No."
"Then His Majesty did?"
Daphne gave a sad smile. As Artemisia inwardly cursed the Emperor, Daphne spoke.
"But I did the assignment you gave me instead."
"......"
"Look."
Daphne pointed to the canvas, and she examined it with narrowed eyes. Artemisia's lips curved upward.
The Emperor with his throat being slit. Daphne, strong and condemning him with the knife.
Bold brushstroke marks were visible. Artemisia smiled, seeing what she had revived in her. Yes, this was what she wanted. She hoped this woman would rise without crumbling like she had. Daphne reminded her of her past self, withered by merciless violence.
No, she looked even more tragic than herself.
"I've been thinking, I don't think I can make painting my profession. It's fun, but I'm not that good."
"......"
"But Artemisia."
Daphne, who had always called her "miss," took her first step forward.
"Doesn't this mean I did well on the assignment you gave me?"
At those words, Artemisia nodded.
But that was enough.
"There's nothing more I can teach you. Now you don't have to worry."
Artemisia said in a bright voice. Daphne looked at her with a gentle smile. Artemisia thought she would miss this pitiful woman quite a bit.
She had met her only because of the Emperor's blackmail. But in the end, Artemisia was the one comforted. It felt like saving her past self.
"It's just a shame we won't see each other anymore by His Majesty's order."
Daphne shook her head at Artemisia's words.
"No, we'll meet."
"......"
"I want to see you again."
"......"
"Soon. Or even if not soon."
Daphne's eyes sparkled. The face of someone fading away was emitting light.
That day, Daphne killed the Asherad inside her for the first time.
The real her was too weak, without even the strength to kill Asherad. But the moment she stood up for herself, she was no longer powerless.
Yet Daphne didn't realize it. The difference between Artemisia's painting and hers was that, unlike the man who died in agony with his throat slit, the Emperor died with eyes peacefully closed, and Daphne wore a sorrowful expression too.