Her humility did her credit, although Kalortah couldn’t imagine such a great artist didn’t have a serviceable voice. It was hard for him to imagine that anyone with a creative soul could not be able to sing. It simply came with the territory in his mind. Part of the reason he disliked those who weren’t of an artistic or musical bent.
Eliza liked dirges then? Maudlin songs. That’s what Kalortah thought that meant. ”I’m much the same, most of my songs are dirges or at least inspired by some form of sadness. It comes with the territory of having lived long enough with one care or another in the world.” It, of course, didn’t occur to Kalortah that the woman in front of him might’ve lived much longer than he had. He only had about thirty-something winters behind him. Yet at times it seemed a sage old age to him. Perhaps he’d look back and laugh if he ever aged beyond a few more decades. For now, though, he was secure in his wise old age.
He sat, and let her work, feeling strangely self-conscious as she did so. This was a new experience for him, to take a portrait. He’d always imagined his avriel form would be immortalized in art before any other disguise he took on. Yet as it became clear that she didn’t need him to sit in any particular way, he relaxed visibly. At least, she didn’t complain as he turned to regard his surroundings, whether it be her other paintings or the way the beams met at the gables of her gallery’s ceiling.
His brows perked up when she finally did speak once more. ”Oh, I believe that was the word I used. The fault is mine.” He said it as a matter of vanity, he couldn’t have another taking credit for his words, even when that word was used incorrectly, as it turned out. ”Hmm, frailties and insecurities.” The more she spoke thus, the more his curiosity to see what she was working on grew. He thought almost to summon Glorius through the window, to peek at her work. In fact, he did summon the bird. The blue-white feathered owl perched upon the banister, and hooted innocently as it wobbled from talon to talon, watching as Eliza worked.
Thus satisfied with his familiar’s presence, yet still holding back from receiving an opinion on her work from Glorius, he decided he’d prefer to form his own impression. He didn’t want it to be muddied by the owl’s own artistic tastes, which Kalortah had to admit he didn’t have much confidence in.
When she complimented him on his being a worthy subject, his back stiffened in pride. ”Thank you. As a performer, you have to make do performing at many strange and uncouth places before you can find your preferred venue. This is paradise compared to some places I’ve had the honor of standing in judgment before.” Unbidden, a blush rose to his cheeks, as he found that he appreciated her compliment far more than he thought he would. This made him somewhat uncomfortable, and as often happened when a human impressed him, he had a moment of confusion.
However, it passed as soon as it dawned on him, as he calmed himself with a few breaths. And then she thanked him.
”I appreciate that.” He said, and nodded to her. And he meant it, ”Damn you, Kalortah, why do you do this?” He chastised his weakness internally but smoothed over the momentary anguish of the situation.
Finally, she invited him to look at her work. He rose to his feet, and then there in front of him, beside the flight of Glorius who took off into the skies, to check for possible pursuit by bounty-hunter types, he viewed the painting.
It was amazing. When he’d been turning his head this way and that during the painting, he imagined her twisting up his features. But everything was perfectly true to life, yet with a real expression that emerged from the canvas itself. He saw in his human face, at once his lost pride, his lapse of honor, but at the same time, he saw a soul searching for his way in the world, trying to find something worthy of value. In that, his vanity was satisfied.
He sniffed, and a tear fell down from his eye as his lip trembled. But this was no act, he was truly moved by the beauty of her art.
He cleared his throat, and stammered, ”Thank you… It’s… more than perfect. It is beyond words…”
