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Edgar Valden, the previously esteemed painter. was truly beyond hope this time.
There he sat, wailing pitifully with his face shoved into a (far too flat) pillow, the same thing he swore to himself he’d never do. How pathetic… He truly had reached a new low.
In the past, there had always been ways to ease any negative feelings, ways to escape from the vile clutches of grief and anger. Blood smeared artfully across a canvas to fend off irritation, premeditated isolation to feel in control again. Yet, what is there to do when the one person you trusted looks at you like a stranger? Eyes full of confusion and pity and everything in between…
Edgar screamed into his pillow once again.
He didn’t seem like the lying kind… so, is it true? Did he truly forget about me? How…? How could he be so invisible to the only person he truly craved being seen by?
… Whatever. At least this meant no more distractions, he could focus on painting more. Yes. It’s a good thing.
Repeating that to himself over and over didn’t help much at all, though.
A knock sounded at the door before Edgar could collect his thoughts and stop acting like a child, a woman calling out hesitantly, like she was afraid of what he might say back. “Ah, Mr. Valden…? Miss Emily told me to ask if you were okay.” Which one was this? The gardener, perhaps? Edgar took a deep breath and clenched his fists.
“Please leave. I’m busy.”
Busy, ha! As if.
She seemed to take the hint and leave, as things quickly became silent like before.
And for the second time that night, he was left alone with his thoughts again.
Earlier that day...
Edgar shoved open the heavy oak doors to what appeared to be the manor’s main room, startling everyone who had been sitting and chatting previously. One of the men wearing a strange hat stood up, almost protectively, and opened his mouth as if to speak. The painter interrupted before he could say anything.
“What’s wrong with this place? Why was there a… a-” Edgar sputtered, barely able to get the words out, “a CLOWN chasing me in?!” God, he hated clowns. The short blonde girl sitting near the fireplace giggled to herself, earning an elbow to the side from one of the others. He crossed his arms and glared impatiently.
“Ah, that was one of the hunters. I suppose this was just a bad time for you to arrive,” A woman in a nurse outfit answered when it was obvious nobody else would. Though, it only confused Edgar more.
“...Hunters?”
The room’s mood quickly grew somber, and the silence became oppressive. Edgar was full of questions, far too many to name, but before anyone could even answer a single question a door at the back opened.
“I’ve returned, everyone!” A male called out cheerfully. Edgar’s gaze locked on to him within a second. He knew that voice. He knew that manner of speaking. He knew every shift of tone by heart.
“...Luca?!”
Forgetting his standards of behavior in his utter elation, Edgar rushed forward, but froze when the other man took a confused step back.
Huh?
“I-I’m sorry, have we met?” Luca smiled hesitantly, obviously wary of the newcomer. And in his eyes, where stars had shone all those months ago, Edgar could only see fear.
His heart felt like it was about to implode, face obnoxiously hot and chest tight.
He looked over at the others.
A white haired man, scowling at him.
The nurse, trying to piece together what was going on.
A man with a blindfold, shifting around uncomfortably.
The girl with the military-like uniform, staring in rapt attention.
…
Edgar turned around and strode right out of the room.
He could hear someone mutter from behind, asking if he even knew his way to his living quarters, but he didn’t turn back. It wasn’t worth it.
Nothing ever was.
That night, Edgar fell asleep with tear stained cheeks and thoughts full of watercolors, paintings of what used to be.