Work Text:
You take a step inside the painted door.
It was already in the middle of the night in the world you came from, the only sound being the whirring of machineries and faint conversation between operators in their night shifts but you were painfully awake, restless and cold so you thought that it would be better if you instead offer company to someone you know would also be up and awake.
Alone, like you are.
So you take another step inside the painted door, watching as the colors all around you merge, converge, and then fade all at once but when you blink, you find yourself somewhere you know to be something straight out of a dream. Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes reflexing beautifully colored skies painted in shades of crimson.
It was the middle of the night in the landship which you came from, but in this world that you have entered, time is easily controlled by its creator. The creator being the person you are seeking.
It was easy to spot them from where you stood (how can it not be?). There they are, at the top of the cliff, a few steps away from you with their back turned against you, their tail curled around them as the rays of the sun gently enveloped their form.
They looked ethereal, as they should be.
"My apologies for disturbing you." You say, breathless for you were charmed by the sight before you. You recover right after as you find the tail flick away from their original position and notice the person's head tilt ever so slightly towards you. Eyes like the color of red wine peeking from behind raven colored hair. "I was unable to sleep so I've ended up finding myself in here. Do forgive me." You continue, still stuck in where you are as you waited for their approval.
Dusk hums, quiet but you can hear it amidst the gentle whispers of the wind to which fallen leaves danced to. "Forgiven." She tells you. Just a single word and you know that she is also giving you permission to go and approach her.
And so you do, taking one step at a time, careful before your eyes drifted into the horizons that seemed to be frozen in time. "Is this your new piece?" You muse out loud, stopping just behind the painter.
"Mmhm."
Ah, so that's why it feels more vibrant.
Silence blanketed the two of you, the only melody being the tune to which the birds that flew all around you sang to and then you found yourself inching ever closer to the painter who simply stayed put, frozen in her spot and not doing anything to drive you out or simply, kick you out of this world she had created just because you can.
Like this, the company was beautiful. You sneak a glance at her, feeling nothing below you feet but the wind that twisted and coiled around it. You're not going to fall, that much you knew. But had you fallen, you'll simply find yourself beside her again. For this was her world, a break from the reality she had created just to collect her thoughts. (It's rude for you to be here but she does not chase you out.)
"It's beautiful." You say, a smile threatening to tug at your lips but you know not to, for she won't see (she does not need to). You'd like to smile when she finally looks at you, atleast.
Compliments were by no means new to her ears. For her incredible arts had left countless appraisers agape and yearn for more, only for her to turn them down with a wave of her sword. Many know not to anger the Great Painter of Yen after all, lest one be trapped in a loop of reality and fantasy, of truth and lies in which you would be unable to distinguish one from the other and be sealed away for eternity until you became just another piece to her paintings.
So she does not speak, nor let out any noise.
Quiet.
The silence choked you out more than you'd like to admit. But truth to be told, you know that you're too smitten, too enamored, by the woman that sat beside you already so you stay by her side, letting yourself drown in the silence, a hand reaching out, waiting for the time in which she too will reach out.
You love her, selflessly. From afar, through tears and in your loneliness.
But the slight brush of her tail against the back of your hand did spark hope in you.
Perhaps it isn't that impossible after all.