Painting of a Rosemary Garden [Revised 8/27]

Waking up was brutal, with last night having barely any sleep, staying up writing a letter back to the guild. I walked down the stairs and paid the innkeeper for last night’s room and for a bottle of milk to start the day, taking in the scenery of songbirds on a tree branch out the window. Before I could walk out the door, I saw my companion already jogging over towards the inn, waving at the sight of me, then coming in and taking a seat next to me. How could she be this lively this early…

“Morning, how are you? Did you sleep well?”

My still half-asleep mind took a second to register what I heard before nodding with eyes that barely stayed open.

“There is this big art gallery up the street, let’s have a look in it.”

I agreed, thinking it would help wake me up and she waited for me to finish breakfast, but just her being around had already brightened up my day.

From the outside, the art gallery looked just like any other building in the city, marble walls with an elegantly decorated roof but a lot bigger, taking up twice or even three times the space of others. A red and purple banner hanging over the main door, signifying its grand entry.

Waking in, we were greeted with a warm welcome by the staff, and were surprisingly not charged. Our eyes were then guided to the heart of the exhibit, filled with paintings and carvings by famous artisans from all over the Great Land of Meralic and even Hearthstone, some even from elfen lands far in the west.

“Come, look at this!”

She rushed off to whatever caught her eye the moment I had my eyes off her. Catching my breath where she stopped, I looked up to see a beautiful scenic painting of a sunset near a coast, starting into an island far off with the sun reaching into it.

Her hand reached out, not to touch it but as if fantasizing about being there, bathing in the remaining sun, and said in a voice so soft that it could barely be heard.

“It’s like home.”

My eyes darted over to her on their own, surprised, or intrigued since she had never talked about her past. But the look I got back yelled, I didn’t say that, and I hope you didn’t hear that at the same time, wanting me to ignore it.

“And look, this is pretty too!”

Dragging me with a forced on smile over to another painting, this one showing the Hearthstone landscape. Sizable chunks of granite over already stoney soil, towering trees hard as iron covered one side, gaps between the trunks showed a campfire with wooly minotaurs surrounding it, one dancing with a lamb stick in its hand and a settlement over the horizon.

Her eyes sneaked a few glimpses at me while I picked out the details from the painting, wishing I had already forgotten what she had said if I did hear it before relaxing, turning back to her usual self.

A chime rang from a chandelier shaped ornament over at the other side of the room with people under it, pointing at its underside with each touch sounding a different chime. Noticing me staring off again, she gave my shirt a tug and asked.

“You want to go have a look?”

A lectern sat near it with a manual about the art piece and a golden plaque engraved with the artist name. The piece itself was a paper ring floating above a marble platform with levitation magic enchanted by the etchings on its back side, letting it spin freely. Flipping open the manual, it reads that this was an ornamented elfen calendar for the year 265 of the 2nd era, two years ago.

It was separated into eight sections, each section representing a month and each two months representing a season, faintly shaded with a color to honor the divines that reigned over them.

Stepping onto the platform, the paper ring circled around us. The thin paper was somehow able to be lined with gold and silver, the divines drawn onto each month sitting between livelike foregrounds and backgrounds, the outlines defined with tiny obsidian shards turning the watercolor painting into stained glass art.

Blooming turnips covered the spring months, rolling hills layered with fresh, green grass. The divine over nature sitting under an apple tree, the antlers on her head started to blossom, cupping the yet-to-be bloomed flower buds.

Heavy rain fell under a purple sky painted over the summer months, crops sprouting in the fertile soil. The divine over the absolute, like oblivion, pulled the sun in, shining and piercing through the thick rainclouds.

A forest of trees brushed over the autumn months, a fairy painting the leaves red from left to right, another plucking them down, turning the ground red. The divine over all things magic floated among the falling leaves, ritualistic circles of magic haloing around her.

A blizzard turned the winter months into an icy blue, a lifeless tundra covered by knee-deep snow. The divine over time stood alone in the frigid cold, her neck scarfed around by an ashed snake. Gleaming golden eyes, its pupil serpentine-like pierced through the veiling snow.

###

The sun climbed to its peak and the clock tower rang. Visitors were escorted out as the gallery temporarily closed for lunch hour.

Crossing streets and turning corners, trying to look for a place to rest and eat, we were called over by an old street artist, offering to draw us for barely anything in return.

My companion quickly took up the offer and a genuine smile arched across the artist's face, bending down to prepare his palette and brush. I tried to move out of the way and wait at the side, but she grabbed my hand, anchoring me down and staring me down with a determined face, not letting me go.

After half an hour of being instructed to move and turn, the artist was finally satisfied with his work. Placing down his tools, lifting up the canvas and bringing it over to us.

She handed the painting over to me and I took a look while she dug through her bag for her coin pouch. It was a bit too detailed for an art word done in only thirty minutes, the old man grinned and smirked at my surprised look.

A portrait of us over a garden of blooming rosemary, perfectly detailed, not one stroke too much, it had an enthralling allure. And without thinking, my mouth moved on its own, mumbling out, "It’s like the one in that dream…"