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“Death Couldn’t Do Them Part”
Hundreds of years ago there was a prince and a knight. The prince was a cold-hearted man who never seemed to care for anyone and the knight was said to be the most devoted and serious knight in the kingdom. The queen assigned the knight to her son believing only she could deal with him. The two got along very well and the prince’s cold demeanor seemed to melt whenever he had his knight by his side. The knight was also reported to be more loyal to the queen’s son than the queen herself.
One day the pair snuck out together, worried, the queen sent out her guards in search of them. However, they were dead. Holding each other tightly with a few arrows and other wounds covering them. When the soldiers tried to receive the corpses, the arms wouldn’t budge, leaving them to bury the prince and knight together. The artist of this painting still remains unknown to this very day.
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Scaramouche was alone this Valentine's Day. Not that he couldn’t get a date, it’s just he never seemed interested in getting one. He thinks the holiday is honestly pretty stupid and a waste of time. So here he is wandering a museum he doesn’t know why he entered in the first place. He got bored and decided to leave, just when he was going to turn back however, he saw it.
A painting titled “Death Couldn’t Do Them Part” displayed across the room from him. He walked closer and found himself intrigued by it; liking it even. He examined the painting for a long time, the prince had his head leaning on the knight’s shoulder. His hair was blackish indigo with blood splattered on his neck and chest from the arrow that was set down on the grass below them. His arm was wrapped around the waste of the female knight who had her arm around his shoulder and the other arm holding his hand. She has a more purple-indigo shade for her hair which was cut into an uneven bob. The longer part had a lighter shade at the end, a purple-white. He looked closer once more, and despite staring for ten minutes he barely noticed their eyes. The eyes of the prince were slightly covered but he could still see the light blue in them. The knight had dull yellow eyes with a white glare on one of them, looking like a formation of tears. He found her…
“Beautiful right?”
Looking at where the voice came from, he saw a girl smiling with a blush on her face.
“The story of the two is really romantic, what do you think?”
Looking back at the painting he replies with a shrug, what was so romantic about being shot several times and dying pathetically in the middle of the woods? Hoping she was getting the message and luckily enough she did, she walked away disappointedly but without much of a fuss. He could appreciate that. It also made him aware of a small issue, he looked away from the painting and saw a few people staring at him. It was time to go.
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He stopped by a coffee shop to get himself a drink, but he reached for the door it already opened. A tall woman had a cup holder in one hand and a separate drink in her other. Soft indigo hair in an uneven bob and yellow eyes. His eyes grew a little wide when he saw her, but their interaction was short-lived as she apologized with a bow and quickly rushed away. A small part of him wanted to call out her, the more reasonable part of him called himself a moron.
Stupid things he thought of, a reincarnated knight? He sounded crazy to himself. Even crazier was the fact he kept going back to the museum often just for that painting. The nail in the coffin was when he dreamt of it too as if he was the prince. His fascination bordered on obsession, even when he tried to stay away, he couldn’t help but visit at the very least once a week.
It was July 14 when was on his way back to the painting, it felt like a routine at this point. He passed through several people nearly bumping into a short girl with green hair and her taller friend. He stood in front of the art for what seemed like the thousandth time. He looked at it with a very deep sense of longing, if he wanted to, he probably could have drawn it from memory. A few more minutes pass by of his examination when he sees a reflection of a tall figure in the glass covering the painting. Something compelled him to turn around and when he did, he saw the knight.
No that’s fucking stupid, it was the woman from the coffee shop all those months ago, her mouth was slightly open as she looked at the painting in awe. God, he hated how much she looked like the knight… The eyes were probably the only way he could tell the difference since she had a livelier look in her eyes and the knights’ were, well, dead. He stepped to the side causing her to look down at him. They make eye contact for a few seconds before saying,
“You look like the prince.”
“You remind me of the knight.”
They pause with slightly widened eyes as they realize they both see the resemblance in each other. The taller woman’s expression softened as she nodded and then she took a few steps closer to read the description of the painting. He stared at her intently wondering what she would think of it, perhaps hoping she would enjoy the piece as much as he does. She glanced at him briefly then back at the description then at the painting, before finally standing up straight again and looking at him directly.
“What do you think of it?”
He blinks before responding, “What do I think about the painting?” She nods and he looks down to think for a few seconds. “I wish we knew who killed them first of all, then I wish we knew why they snuck out too.”
She nods in agreement and looks back at the painting. Partially out of obligation and partially out of curiosity, he asks her for her interpretation.
“I think it’s sad they couldn’t be together openly.”
He thinks about what she said for a moment. Her words also gave him a hypothesis as to why they snuck out; in love with each other but unable to be together, they decided to elope. While leaving they got caught in some crossfire. It did seem sad that they died trying to be together, but he also felt annoyed. Why couldn’t they be together? Why did they have to run away, why were they killed? Who painted this art piece? Why couldn’t the prince just demand he be married to the knight? His thoughts and anger were interrupted when he heard the woman speak, it was soft, but he was able to hear it.
“I wonder if they were happy dying together…”
“What?”
“Oh, well, if they loved each other so much that they ran away together, I’m sure they planned on living with each other till one of them died. Was it worth it even if they died early? Did dying together give them a sense of relief?”
He laughed after hearing her words, making her rather confused since she didn’t find anything amusing to what she said. He thinks about it a little more and guesses it was worth it for them. At least it feels nice to think it was worth it. He heard another girl call out for someone named Sara, he didn’t care until the woman he was talking to replied to her. Turning back, he sees her staring down at him with a small shine in her eyes.
“It was nice chatting with you about the painting.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, slightly in a daze, wishing deep down that he could talk with her a little longer.
She walked away from him holding her bag as he stared at her back. The scene felt very familiar, a strong sense of Deja vu for no reason he could think of. When she turned back, he was a little surprised. Even more so when she smiled slightly and waved. Her yellow eyes had a captivating glare which sent him into a small trance as he waved back.
Turning back to the painting he stares back at the knight. God the resemblance was undeniable. They looked so similar…he leaned in a bit closer to look at the eyes which no longer looked dull. Looking at the lower part of her face he sees a smile too…
Guess it was worth it after all.