Work Text:
How long had they been gone? Years? Months? Days? The lady with the sand-colored hair looked silently through the studio. It was the first time she had been there since they had parted ways after university. They had spent their afternoons there. They had learned, laughed, eaten, drawn, and enjoyed their time there. Now she stood there in this abandoned, dusty studio, her best friend. Her friend, who was usually called the Moon Princess. She herself had been just the fragile doll that hardly got any attention. The perfect construction of the lady and the appearance of her, were found by many more interesting than the swing of her wrist as she guided the brush or used other materials for her experimental images. But the woman, whom she initially thought was too open, was the one who approached her, spoke to her, and admired her art. The warmth, the closeness, the moon, and the star. The Artistic Duo of the Art University. They had done everything together, were there for each other, held each other tight, picked each other up, protected each other, and even raised their hands or fists when problems arose. She didn't know why they brought her here. Why it hit them here. She hadn't seen the other one in four or five years. They were no longer young girls, they had grown into ladies. The lady's blue, deep sky eyes let her gaze wander. The studio seemed abandoned, almost like those temple ruins in the woods. Silently, she approached the canvases and examined the paintings. The blue glow flickered as she noticed something. A canvas that had been started. With slow steps - her black shoes left marks on the floor - she approached the canvas. She pulled out a silk cloth from her small bag and wiped away the dust that had formed. She began a lunar landscape with the warm pastel colors she always used. The moon shone on the picture, while something was attempted in the foreground. A person. But she wasn't finished. No, on the contrary. She had been repainted multiple times, repositioned, and new colors chosen. Suddenly she heard footsteps and immediately she let go of the canvas, over which her fragile hand had just wanted to brush again. A light was turned on and suddenly the whole atelier was in the soft, warm light of the moon lamps, which she had bought back then because she wanted the moon with her, while they had chosen the other stars and immortalized them in the colorful stained glass windows. The lady stumbled to the side, trying not to act mechanically and reached for the key she was wearing around her neck. Her blue eyes looked fearfully at it before she looked forward. There she stood. The Moon Princess. Her friend, whom she hadn't seen in a long time. Her friend looked like an angel. An angel who spreads his large, white wings and protectively wraps them around her. "Columbina...", that was all the lady with the sand-colored hair could get out of her mouth. "You did hear my request after all.", the angel's gentle voice sounded. She slowly walked over to the other one. The white dress she wore shimmered beautifully in the almost dark room. However, the lady wasn't paying attention and tripped over a box with her bare feet. But before they could hit the ground, the doll caught them. Sandrone's blue eyes looked at the Moon Princess. The lady with the black hair was silent for a while before slowly raising her hand and gently touching her chin. Sandrone flinched briefly before relaxing. "You should clean this up," tender Sandrone said. "I should really...but thank you for coming, Sandrone," she replied softly before helping herself up. Sandrone pushed the box aside before following Columbina up to her tea table. Sandrone followed her in silence. The small tea table still stood by the window, exactly where they had pushed it back then so that the moonlight would fall over the cups in the evening. Columbina lit a candle, even though the warm light from the lamps was already sufficient. It was an old habit. Warmth created safety. She poured tea, her movements calm, almost reverent, as if she didn't want to scare the moment. Only when they were both seated, the cups between their hands, did Columbina dare to look up. Her gaze was soft, yet tired, as if too much unspoken lay within. "I hoped you would come," she began softly. "Not today... not exactly today. But someday." A small, uncertain smile flickered across her face. "This atelier has missed you. And I have too." Sandrone said nothing. She listened, as she always had. Columbina lowered her gaze to the tea. The steam rose and disappeared, as if it were taking her thoughts with it. "I stopped painting," she finally confessed. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Not all at once. It wasn't a break. It was...a slow fading away," she raised a hand and let her fingers tremble slightly. "I tried so many times. Nights long, canvas after canvas. Mixing colors, starting over, discarding. I painted the moon over and over again, because I thought if I just looked long enough, it would remember me," a soft, sad laugh. "But he remained silent," her gaze drifted to the unfinished canvas still hanging on the wall. "That one… that was my last attempt. I wanted to paint you without painting you. Feeling you without seeing you. But every time I started, there was only emptiness. As if someone had quietly taken my muse out of me, leaving no trace," Columbina said briefly through her hair. "Maybe I was too much like the moon." Maybe I forgot what it's like to be moved," she said, looking at Sandrone. Her blind eyes were closed as always, yet they showed pain. "You were always the reason my hands knew what to do. You saw what I couldn't name." Her voice didn't break, it remained soft. "And when you left...I kept painting, out of habit. But no longer out of love," a moment of silence fell over her. Warm, heavy, but not painful. Columbina slowly extended her hand, letting it rest hesitantly on the table, close to Sandrone's. "I didn't call you to hold you back," she whispered. "I just wanted you to know...that my art never lost you. Just the courage to keep going," the moon outside pushed itself out from behind a cloud, and for a moment its light seemed to fall directly on both of them, as it had before. Sandrone's blue eyes looked at Columbina's delicate hand. It was stained with paint. She probably hadn't even found the time to wash her hands. Slowly, her hand reached out and grasped his, holding it tightly. With the other, she took the teacup and drank some of the tea. The tea made the puppet think better. That's how the gears work better. Sandrone let his gaze roam the room before returning to Columbina. The warm light reflected in her blue eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as if time had indeed stopped. Columbina took a small sip of tea, then smiled, carefully, almost shyly. "Do you remember," Sandrone began softly, "how we came here on the first day?"
Her voice was calm, but it had a gentle wavering of memory. "You immediately stood by the large window. You said the light was good enough to forgive mistakes," a soft smile settled on Columbina's face. "And you laughed," she replied. "You said light doesn't forgive anything. It only shows what you overlook," Sandrone nodded. "I was afraid. So afraid. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, what they wanted to create," her gaze dropped briefly. "And I was just...the puppet. Silent. Observing," Columbina gently shook her head. "You were never just that. You were the only one who stayed when my designs fell apart." She leaned back. "Do you remember the night before the first big submission? We barely slept. You washed the color out of my hair because I was too tired to do it myself," Sandrone laughed softly, a warm, genuine laugh. "And you insisted that we still had to look presentable. As if order would drive away our nervousness.", She looked up. "You ended up getting the prize. And I was more happy about that than my own rating." Columbina was silent for a moment, then spoke softer. "Because we were never against each other. We were... together," her fingers wrapped around the teacup more tightly. "They called us the artistic duo. Moon and star. As if it were a title they could bestow on us without understanding what it meant," Sandrone looked at her. "It meant that you shone when I doubted. And that I held you when you flew too far," a soft wind moved the branches outside. In the studio, it sounded like a distant breath. "Sometimes," Sandrone muttered, "I miss those days. Not because of the university. But because of the afternoons." Sitting on the floor, brushes everywhere, cold coffee, and your music too loud," Columbina smiled wistfully. "And you always said it was too melancholy," then she looked at her, openly, warmly. "But you stayed. Every day." The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was filled with memories, with shared laughter, with unspoken understanding. Two ladies who had changed and yet still knew what it was like to breathe together.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
A little later, the two stood before the canvases. While Sandrone devoted himself to a charcoal drawing, Columbina tried her hand at her landscape drawing once more. Time passed quietly, almost unnoticed. The tea had grown cold, the candle had burned down. Finally, they stood side by side before the canvases, just as they had before, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sandrone reached for the charcoal. Her movements were calm, sure, guided by years of practice. The soft scratching on the paper filled the room, a familiar sound. She didn't draw hastily, but thoughtfully, letting lines emerge and disappear again, as if she were having a conversation with the white. Meanwhile, Columbina stood in front of her canvas, her fingers slightly spread, as if she was listening not to the room but to the surface itself. Her eyes were slightly open, but her purple gaze drifted into nothingness. Seeing meant nothing to her. Instead, she stepped closer, gently placed her hand on the canvas, felt the fine texture of the fabric under her fingertips. She took a brush, dipped it in paint, and slowly stroked it across. Not with her eyes, but with her feelings. She followed the inner image, the echo of what she once knew: where the moon had to soften, where the landscape should open up. Her hand hardly trembled, yet she hesitated. The first application of paint was gentle, almost hesitant. Then a second and a third, and Columbina paused. Her breath caught. "No…" she whispered, barely audible. She tried again, changing the color, the direction, the pressure. Her fingers glided over the still-wet surface, searching for meaning, for connection. But there was nothing to hold onto. No inner guidance, no soft pull to draw her on. The landscape remained foreign. Flat. Still. Restless. Imprecise. Not right. With each passing minute, her movements grew more uncertain. She stepped back, then forward, touching the canvas again, as if she could coax an answer from it. Her shoulders slowly snagged. "I don't feel it," she finally said. Her voice was calm, but there was a deep loss in it. "Earlier, I knew where everything belonged. I could feel the room. The distance. The warmth," she shook her head slightly. "Now there's just...fog." Sandrone had stopped drawing. She watched Columbina silently, the piece of charcoal still between her fingers. When she saw Columbina's hand drop powerlessly to her side, she put her drawing aside. She moved closer slowly. Not abruptly, not urgently. "Columbina," she said softly. The other turned her head in her direction, even though she couldn't see her. Her eyes searched nonetheless, out of old habit. Sandrone put the charcoal on the table. Then she stepped close enough to Columbina that she could feel her warmth. She carefully took Columbinas hand, leading it not to the screen, but to herself. "Then don't draw the moon," she said calmly. "And no landscape." She placed Columbina's fingers on her shoulder, letting her feel the fabric, the line of her body. "Draw me," Columbina held her breath. "Use me as a model," Sandrone continued, quietly, decisively. "Not because you need to see what I look like. But because you know how I feel. You never understood me with your eyes.", she gently lifted Columbina's hand to her face, letting it feel the contour of her chin, the soft roundness of her cheek. "You've always drawn me by listening to me," Columbinas fingers trembled slightly as she touched Sandrone. For a moment she said nothing. Then she took a deep breath. "You were never still," she whispered. "Not for me." Sandrone smiled, invisible but palpable in the way she held Columbinas hand. "Then start there," and for the first time that evening, Columbina felt not emptiness but a quiet, familiar beginning. Columbina slowly grasped the brush after they had mixed the right colors. With one hand she would reach out, with the other she would draw. Slowly, her hand trembled as it glided over her cheek before she gently applied this movement to the white, fresh canvas with her brush. Sandrone watched the other. But at some point, Columbina trembled as she touched her lips. "I am here, Columbina. I am your canvas, don't hold back," she said against the other's finger, which caused it to vibrate slightly. Only slowly did the angel nod before she searched for the right color and continued painting. Columbina's breathing was uneven as her fingertips left Sandrone's lips. The trembling didn't immediately subside, but Sandrone's words were warm against her skin, calm, and carrying. An invitation, not a push. Columbina nodded slowly. Her movement was barely visible, more an inner agreement than a gesture. She turned to the palette, letting her fingers glide over the tubes. Each color had its own weight, temperature, and memory for her. She opened one after the other, smelled them, and stroked a bit of paint between her thumb and forefinger. "Tell me...," she whispered softly, "how the light feels on your skin." Sandrone stepped half a step closer. "Warm," she answered without hesitation. "Not bright. More like evening light." A gentle smile danced in her voice. "Take the light ochre. And a little of the rose. Just a little," Columbina did as she was told. She mixed the colors slowly, carefully, until the consistency felt right. Then she lifted the brush and paused. Instead, she set it aside. "I need to understand you first," she whispered. With both hands, she approached Sandrone. Her fingertips found the chin again, glided gently over it, followed the line upward. She felt slowly, respectfully, as if she were asking permission for every contour. The roundness of the cheeks, the gentle transition to the temples. Columbina took her time. A lot of time. Sandrone stood still. She breathed calmly, letting Columbina proceed. "Here…," Columbina said softly as her fingers lingered on the cheekbone. "That's where you've always been tense when you concentrate," Sandrone smiled. "Then take some more shadow there. A cool gray perhaps. But soft. I'm not hard," Columbina nodded again. Her fingers continued, tracing the fine line of the nose, pausing briefly at the tip. Then they glided higher, over the forehead. They lingered longer there, as if listening. "You still think too much," Columbina muttered. "And you still feel too deeply," Sandrone replied softly. A faint smile appeared on Columbina's lips. Her hands slowly descended to the neck, following the line of the jaw, down over the transition to the neck. She felt the pulse there, calm, alive. "Here," Sandrone said softly. "A hint of blue. Not visible, but palpable. Like when you thought I always carried the sky with me," Columbinas throat constricted briefly. She stepped back to the canvas, picked up the brush again. Her movements were now more assured. Not hurried, but guided. Each stroke was a memory, a touch, translated into color. She didn't work from top to bottom, not by rules. She started where her hands had last been, at the neck, then the chin. Layer by layer, delicate, probing. When she hesitated, Sandrone spoke. "A bit warmer." "Less pressure now." "Yes... exactly so," Columbinas shoulders relaxed slowly. The trembling left her fingers, replaced by a calm rhythm. She didn't paint to create something perfect. She painted to hold Sandrone, just as she held him. "You're there," Columbina whispered at some point, almost surprised. Sandrone stepped closer to her, her voice barely more than a breath. "I was never gone. I was in your thoughts, Bina," and as the moon outside slowly rose higher, both ladies felt this old warmth again. As Columbina began to stir up paint for the shoulder and hair, a soft humming came from her mouth. Columbina turned briefly to Sandrone again and followed the line of his hair before carefully feeling the other's shoulders. Now it was quiet between the two. They had nothing to talk about, so Sandrone devoted himself entirely to posing. Columbina herself drew the other's shoulders and hair. Then she briefly turned to coloring the eyes. "How would you describe your eyes?" the angel asked as she touched the colors. "A dark blue. With light speckles of light blue. Imagine them like a starry sky," Sandrone replied before Columbina nodded and found a suitable blue and applied it. Then she drew the speckles before turning to the other one again. Columbina hesitated only a moment before her hands moved on. Not demanding, not seeking more, but calm, mindful – just as she had always done. As if she were reading a familiar work again, page by page, line by line. Her fingerstips slid down from the neck, following the collarbone. She felt the slight elevation beneath the fabric, the slight tension where Sandrone held his breath. "Here," murmured Columbina, almost to herself. "You always said that was your most sensitive spot," Sandrone nodded barely perceptibly. "Then be careful with the lines," she said softly. "Take a light gray. No white. White would be too loud." Columbina's hands followed the line further out, over the shoulders. She took her time, measuring the distance, the posture, the way Sandrone stood. Straight, but not stiff. Open, without being intrusive. "You carry yourself differently than before," Columbina noted. "More calm." "I had to learn to hold myself," Sandrone replied softly. "But with you...I can let go," Columbina's fingers glided slowly back to the center, feeling the fabric over Sandrone's chest—not where it would have become personal or intimate, but where breath was created. Where movement began. She felt the rise and fall, the steady rhythm. "There's warmth here," Columbina said softly. "More than at the neck." "Then mix in some umber," Sandrone suggested. "And a touch of gold. Like you used for hope before." Columbina slowly released her hold on him, stepped back to the canvas. She took the colors, mixed them carefully, tested them between her fingers. Then she picked up the brush. Her strokes were calm, flowing. Not descriptive, but feeling. But she kept coming back. Feeling again. Over the upper arm, the gentle transition to the elbow. The tension where Sandrone carried strength without showing it. "You never made yourself small," whispered Columbina. "Even when you thought people overlooked you." Sandrone smiled. "And you always saw me bigger than I felt myself to be," a quiet moment of silence fell between them. Columbina continued painting, connecting lines, letting the surfaces breathe. But at some point her movements slowed. The brush remained still. "It's hard," she whispered. "Not because I don't feel you. But because I'm afraid of holding you wrong," Sandrone stepped closer, gently placing her hand over Columbina's. "You can't draw me wrong," she said calmly. "You don't draw my body. You draw my closeness." Columbina took a deep breath. Then she made the next stroke, gently, surely, carried by trust. Sandrone noticed only now that everything felt like a gentle dance in the moonlight. A warm, close dance. Not between friends, almost between loved ones. Sandrone's cheeks turned red as Columbina made the final strokes of her drawing. Sandrone remained silent, but then she broke the silence. "Columbina!" she shouted her name. The blind woman immediately turned to the other, dropped her brush. Before the girl, who had always been just a puppet, stepped up to her and hugged her. She hugged her tightly. A hug that she needed now. Columbina was perplexed. While her blind eyes were shocked open, her body reacted slowly and returned the hug. "Sandrone... is everything all right?" her voice broke as she felt Sandrone tremble and cling to her white dress. "Columbina... I missed you. You and your art," she said. Columbinas eyes softened before she slowly closed them and sank to the ground with the other, pulling her closer. Her paint-stained hands gently ran through her sand-colored hair. "Sandrone, I missed you too," she whispered softly before the first tears left her eyes. Sandrone looked at the other and sniffled before she too broke into tears. The moon shone warmly through the window onto the two. The wind blew through the fields and meadows of the town, and the warmth intensified. Sandrone's grip loosened. She let go of the other, then grabbed the other's face. Columbina's face was soft. It was so soft and white. She wiped away the other's tears before she slowly got closer to her. Columbina felt the other's breath coming closer, but before she could do anything, their gentle lips met. The warm tea-flavored lips stayed together for a long time. Both ladies experienced something they had long yearned for. For true love and warmth. Both slowly let go. Sandrone's blue eyes gazed at the other's gentle face before Columbia could even begin, Sandrone kissed her again, which the other returned. As Columbia now also searched for something in the other, both fell to the ground. Laughing, they broke apart. "I love you Sandrone," "I love you Bina," they both replied at the same time, before snuggling up to each other and making themselves comfortable on the ground. This way, they could look at their magical blanket. The moon shone gently through it, making everything magical. The moon wanted to see its star. The star and the moon. The lights of the sky's tent.