“Art is not the application of a canon of beauty but what the instinct and the brain can conceive beyond any canon. When we love a woman, we don’t start measuring her limbs.” – Pablo Picasso

Eyes cast a pensive stare upon the words etched onto the front page of the worn out portfolio. Fingers trace cautiously over the ebon words scribbled neatly in fine script. Brushing her thumb against the artist’s name at the end of the thoughtful quote, her sight shifts into the fading horizon where the setting sun bids her a temporary farewell. She inhales deeply, filling her lungs with the calming scent of autumn as she allows the words on the aged paper to sink into her being.

Opening her eyes, she closes the old book shut and takes a step onto the streets. With her art collection in hand, she takes in the scenery of artists busying themselves with their canvases as they littered the streets of Paris, with their easels and painting tools, with hopes of finishing up their masterpiece before the last streaks of the day fade into the distance. A smile graces her lips when she realizes that she is finally in the land of her dreams – Paris, the city of love and aesthetics.

Eager to capture the beauty of the place, the raven-haired woman strides blithely towards a vacant bench that faced the sea, where one catches the clearest glimpse of the setting sun. She places her backpack beside her on the bench and hastily opens it to grab her tools of the trade: a clean sheet of paper attached to a clipboard and her set of pastels.

With passion-filled eyes, Tiffany immerses herself into creating a masterpiece, carefully reinventing the fine details of the mystic dusk before her.

 

***

A fair young maiden with brunette locks gracefully falling past her shoulders is quietly sipping her cup of tea. Her serene composure does not seem to match the chaotic situation inside the huge room where she is quietly sitting in. She is blind to mundane things after all.  

“Who is this mysterious painter whom you’ve claimed to have been blessed by the god of art himself?” rambles the old man that was her father. “I want to meet him and see his craft for myself! I want to know what’s so special about him that makes him more famous than the art guild my family has run for generations!”

The old man shakes his younger subordinate with ferocity that it takes the strength out of the lad.

“S-Sir, pardon me but the elusive artist you’re referring to is a young woman…” the young assistant replies.

“A woman? And you tell me that her paintings seemed to have a life of their own? This I have to see! I want to meet her. Invite her to the convention!”

“Y-Yes, sir. We will make arrangements with her. Anything else?”

Now this conversation somehow perks the placid lady’s interest. A female painter gaining a name for herself on the streets of Paris; now this is a rarity especially from her standpoint. She is the only daughter of the man who runs the biggest art guild in the whole of France after all. And seldom does she hear news of a woman earning reputation among the ranks of the artistic yet patriarchal community.

Her father’s question brings her out of her trance, “May I know the name of this extraordinary painter?”

“Her name is Tiffany Hwang, sir.”

‘Tiffany Hwang, I want to meet you…’ Jessica thinks as she silently sets down the now empty cup on the table with a hint of a smile etched on her face.

***

Tiffany is busy polishing her most recent masterpiece inside the studio, which she had gained after bargaining with a painter, who had quit his job. Her hands gracefully guide the paintbrush onto the smooth canvas that rested on her mahogany easel. A black trail follows the bristles as the brush runs down the curved rows and lines of different hues that blend perfectly.

With a satisfied smile, she lays down the paint-stained brush on a table where all her materials are laid out in perfect order. The painting before her draws its first breath as she takes a step back to admire it. The canvas depicts the view that she had managed to capture a few years ago, when she had been a neophyte. The setting sun and its warm tones seem to have exuded a warm glow onto her face. Its last rays reach out to touch the smooth surface of her skin as she immerses herself in the panoramic view expressed by her artwork.

The view is surreal. It feels like she herself is there on the very setting that the finished canvas portrays. She feels like she had come back to the past once again. The rookie mindset she has, when she was starting out as an artist, begins flooding her mind as she continues staring at her finished craft.

Knock. Knock.

The distinctive sound of fist on wood brings her back to reality. Turning on her heels, she walks toward the door and finds a young man standing before her.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” inquires the raven-haired young woman as she eyes the neatly suited man standing right outside her studio.

Clearing his throat and taking out a small white envelope from his jacket pocket, he hands the message to the young painter.

“Good day to you, Miss Hwang. I am here to give you an invitation from the renowned Jung Art Guild.”

“Oh, thank you, kind sir.”

The messenger finds himself enchanted by the alluring smile that is cast upon him by the young lady who stands by the open door. Tiffany’s milky white teeth shine like the pearls glistening under the sun. Her eyes form half moons of bliss as she accepts the envelope.

After clearing his parched throat, that went dry upon seeing such a deity of a woman, the messenger bids Tiffany farewell after accomplishing his assigned task.  

The young woman turns around after closing the wooden door. Her footsteps lead her deep into her studio. Her numerous paintings hung on the wall, greet her as she sits before them on a stool. Her recently furnished art forgotten as her eyes behold her masterpieces of the past. The envelope rests on her lap as her fingers play with its edges; her eyes in deep contemplation as she studies the blanched packet.  

‘I wonder…’ she attempts to predict the contents of the folded piece of paper that was her invitation card. ‘…what occasion might there be? They have shunned me for so long, so why invite me now?’

“Trouble, dear Tiffany?” a delicate voice rings out from one of the canvases that decorate the walls. The painter shifts her gaze towards the direction of the speaker. It is a lovely portrait; that of a young woman who had passed away not long after the raven-haired painter had immortalized her on canvas.

Tiffany gives the young lady, confined in the frame of the painting, a smile. She is not fazed by the extraordinary behavior of the supposed inanimate object at all. Besides, it is of her own doing as far as she is concerned. Tiffany has gotten used to having the animated portrait for company and she appreciates the odd companion, nonetheless.  

“I’m fine, Yoona. I’m just a little puzzled…” the painter’s eyes shifts back to the envelope sitting idly on her lap.

“Puzzled by an invitation letter?”

“Yes.”

“How come? You’ve never been too bothered by the guild before… Not before you realized you have a gift…”

“I don’t see it as a gift, Yoona. I- I think it’s a curse.”

“I disagree with you, Tiffany. You gave me life when I was to die. You immortalized me and I will forever be grateful to you.”

The painter could not manage a witty riposte that will surpass Yoona’s rebuttal. She casts her eyes elsewhere after knowing defeat, but Yoona only continues to speak to her.

“Tiffany, you have an artist’s eyes and hands. You create life with every you make with your brush. You deserve the recognition so go ahead. Open that envelope and read it to me.”

Her eyes glance upon the young woman depicted in the portrait. Yoona Im was her first living subject and perhaps, her last. She painted her a few years ago after expressing her dissatisfaction on capturing still moments and landscapes.

But this sudden change on subjects only led her to discover her curse. When Tiffany finished painting Yoona’s portrait, her subject died. The artist was horrified after finding out about her young client’s loss. At first, she thought it was just mere coincidence but after encountering a living Yoona confined within the intricately decorated frame, she realized that she was the cause of her living subject’s death.

Hence,Tiffany resolved never to paint a living soul again. Painting the living meant immortalizing them on canvas for a price of course – their physical selves die in the real world once their eyes have cast a look upon their own portraits. This was one of the reasons why those who behold her masterpieces would think that Tiffany’s paintings were surreal, as if they were alive.

Little did they know that Tiffany has the hands not only of an artist’s but also that of a god’s.

For a moment, the young painter hesitates as her eyes tear through the white envelope resting on her lap. But with Yoona’s urging, she frees the invitation letter from its packet.


Dear Miss Hwang,

                Greetings of peace!

                Our humble guild wishes to invite you to a gathering of aspiring artists at the Jung’s Gallery on the 24th of February at two in the afternoon. We are excited to behold one of your masterpieces on our guild’s walls. A contest will also be announced on the day of the gathering. The details will be revealed during the event. 

                We hope to grace your presence on the aforementioned date. 

                Carpe diem!

Yours truly, 
                John Jung


“You should go, Fany.” Yoona muses after the young painter read the contents of the letter aloud.

Tiffany only stares at her with dubious eyes. There is no way she’s going to mingle with those ist artists. Yoona only smiles in reassurance to her silent disagreement.

“I will come with you if you’re that hesitant. No one will be able to throw a harsh criticism on you once they cast their eyes upon me.” Yoona says, with confidence b in her eyes. For some odd reason, it boosts Tiffany’s esteem as well.

“If you’re so insistent with me going to that gathering, I don’t think I’d have to hold back anymore.” replies the young painter as she stands up.

“That’s the spirit!”

***

“Jessica. Jessica. My dear, Jessica.” calls out a lilting voice that makes the sleeping brunette think it was possibly laced with venom.

Her hazy eyes open to take in the usual blurred environment that she has grown accustomed to. She hisses upon sensing the presence of the one who disturbed her precious afternoon nap. The figure has come and made itself comfortable on her bed, while she has been sleeping soundly.

“What do you want?” demands the young brunette with a tinge of irritation made conspicuous in her voice.

“How was your sleep, my blind mistress?” her unexpected visitor teases, unfazed by the glare that the young lady has sent her way.

“And you sure know how to glare despite your visually-challenged condition, Jessica darling.”

Jessica groans as her visitor’s cold yet smooth hand cups her face with affection. Her unwelcome visitor knows her too well. The dark clothed figure sitting beside her on the bed is very familiar with her disability.

Jessica is blind. Well, she can only picture the world as a blur, to be specific.

And belonging to a family which upholds visual art does not make her situation any better. Her blindness is looked upon with contempt by her family. She is viewed as a curse to the art community, even though many have sought her position in the guild, if not for her beauty. But there is one thing that Jessica can see, if there was indeed such a thing to behold; she sees only purity whether in life or in death, living or non-living.

Now this annoying creature, fondly touching her, is one of these ‘pure’ things which she can clearly visualize. The touch of her intruder somewhat tones down her irate mood. Jessica guides her own hand to the one cupping her delicate face and, with a soft tug, she gently lays it down on her lap.

Her fingers play with her companion’s hand for a moment, as she tries to search her mind for an answer to the question that her unexpected visitor has asked. Meeting her eyes with those dark pools of her visitor’s, she gives the creature a soft smile.

“I was having a good rest until you showed up…” there is a hint of annoyance in her reply, to which her visitor only chuckles.

“You’re amusing me, Jessica.”

“Who knew that soul reapers have such sense of humor…” Jessica mumbles as she watches her visitor, clothed in dark raiment, release peals of laughter at her remark.

The figure dressed in a hooded cloak that is as mysterious as the night, raises a pallid finger at her and wiggles it in disagreement to her statement, before lightly tapping Jessica’s nose.

“I am not a soul reaper. How many times do I have to remind you of that?”  

This time, the odd visitor’s laughter has died down. The atmosphere between them turns a little more serious, much to Jessica’s relief. She has put up with this playful creature ever since she has learned how to remember.

“Then what are you, Taeyeon? What exactly do you call yourself if you’re not the creature who finds fun in ripping people’s souls out of their bodies at my expense?!”

Deep dark eyes stare back at her, as the being beneath the black cloak reveals its face. Jessica could only stare in wonder, as she takes in the beauty that has unveiled itself before her. She has seen this façade countless of times, but it never fails to intrigue her.

“I am but a guardian, specifically your guardian, Jessica. The heavens sent me as a consolation to your condition.” Taeyeon gives the brunette a toothy grin as she responds. It is quite a mask for Jessica in actuality. Taeyeon is not a creature to be trifled with, for she is a being bent on protecting the brunette, even though it means the death of certain individuals.

“So much for a guardian who manages to kill those who come near me…” the brunette ripostes as she flicks her finger on her eccentric guardian’s forehead.

Taeyeon’s only response to her action is a mere blink. Neither a twitch nor grimace is seen from the blonde-haired beauty of a female sitting beside the brunette. The guardian’s lips tugs upwards, drawing a smile on her flawless face.

“I only take the lives of those who have ill intentions toward you, Jessica.”

“Then why did you have to kill them? You could’ve just allowed them to live a miserable life…”

“My dear, if I had not managed to kill the one who tried to get his hands on you, would you have lived quite normally today? If I had not stabbed his heart with my dagger, would he have stopped hurting you with his deadly grip? If I had not taken the souls of your would-be assailants, would you have been fine today?”

These words render Jessica speechless. Taeyeon is infallible, although her means are unorthodox. The blonde-haired guardian always manages to prove her point – that Jessica is lucky to have such a protector, although said creature is a little retarded at times.

Jessica releases a defeated sigh, to which her guardian’s eyes light up in triumph.

“Fine. You win. Now what do you want from me?”

“I overheard your father’s ramblings about a certain painter…” the guardian purses her lips in thought before continuing. “She seems to have been touched by something divine from what I’ve heard. For some reason, she is similar to you.”

Jessica is taken aback by the information that her strange guardian has relayed, “You mean she can see what I can see? She can see you too?”

“No. Not in that sense. I haven’t met her yet but from what I’ve heard, she is similar to you in a way that she can immortalize things through her paintings. Her works are magical!’

“I don’t get you.”

“Jessica, the young female painter has been blessed by the heavens just like you! She can immortalize dead people as much as you can distinguish the impure from the pure. You both have that special gift given by heaven.”

“Heaven?” Jessica scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh, Taeyeon! My life has never been blessed by heaven. People die by my name just because they have misunderstood me and thanks to you, people have seen me differently. They’re either afraid of me or they wish to take advantage of me.”

“Jessica, you may be blind but you act like you’re not. You even know how people perceive you despite your limited vision. I commend you for that, but please don’t misunderstand my actions. I only wish to protect you from the world that sees you as vulnerable to its wiles.”

Knock. Knock. 
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