Chapter Text
“Next up, we have a portrait of a young French man, painted in the early 1400s. Some had taken to calling him Dorian Grey, for his beautiful appearance, and the way the portrait itself is so breathtaking, it had shocked everyone into silence when it was first discovered! The starting bid would be ten thousand! Begin!”
Aesop walked into the room, heels clicking silently on the carpet floors as he made his way to his seat.
He had been forced to attend the auction for new items by his mother, who had chided him for his lack of public appearance for half a year.
So, she stuffed him with a bunch of money, told him to have fun, and kicked Aesop out of his own manor.
Aesop didn't even have time to put on his hat.
After a while of asking around, Aesop had found his way to Oletus Auction House, where an auction was currently taking place.
There was a long process of managing to get a number, but soon, Aesop had managed to find his way to the hall, slipping into his seat as the people next to him raised their peddles, bidding for the painting.
Aesop sat still, glancing around nervously. Was his dressing weird? Lady Michiko said that he was fashionable, but compared to the others in suits…Aesop wasn't sure anymore.
Focusing on the auction, Aesop peered at the item on the stage.
The painting size was rather moderate, not too big like a full ceiling portrait, but not too small like the size of a small window. Aesop squinted his eyes, catching the detail on the frame. Swirls and curls looped around the rectangular casing, creating a mesmerizing pattern.
“20 Thousand! Oh, 40 Thousand from number 91!”
Aesop’s eyes were drawn to the subject of the painting. A beautiful shade of turquoise, the most prominent colour in the painting. The man had long, gorgeous white hair, neatly tied up by a ribbon behind him. A masquerade mask half of his face as he laid down, eyes staring at the ceiling with longing, exhaustion, but also hope. His hands were held crossed on his chest, creating the impression of a person waiting for the inevitable.
It was beautiful, mysterious, and without thinking, Aesop’s hand had reached up with his peddle, and he said, “ Ten million.”
The room fell silent, as everyone stared at the newcomer that had gotten into the room not too long ago.
Ten million for a painting was frankly ridiculous, especially when it wasn't a signed work by any famous painters. But this man…
Aesop flushed as the sudden attention, before stammering, “Ah…is that too little..? I can make it twenty million…?”
An even longer silence. Aesop suddenly wished he was working in the embalming industry so he could hide himself in the dead bodies and die.
The auctioneer snapped himself out of his daze, shaking his head as he put on a smile. “ Ten million from our esteemed guest! Any other takers?”
The others in the auction whispered to each other, and Aesop slid down more into his seat, using his cape to cover himself. But ultimately, no one protested.
“Going once, Going twice, sold! To number 46!”
After the auction had ended, Aesop had gotten a necklace, a brooch for his mother, and the painting for himself. Each was ridiculously expensive, but it was worth it, especially when the colours of the jewellery matched his mother’s eyes, and was as pure as it could be.
As Aesop was walking out, he noticed the guards near the door stiffened, before dropping to a perfect 90° angle bow.
How strange, he wasn't shown this level of politeness when he walked in.
Aesop flushed, before giving them a nod back and hurried out of the building, stopping a carriage to go back home.
He would never go to an auction ever again.
The painting was set to arrive the next day, and soon, Aesop’s manor was full with workers running around to carry it into his house. His mother had left the previous night, when Aesop returned back and gifted her the jewellery.
“Goodness, darling, I do hope you didn't spend all the money on spoiling your mother.” She had lightly scolded him.
When Aesop was waving her goodbye, the light from the setting sun had reflected the beautiful shade of grey in her carriage.
Soon, the painting was hung in the corridor, large windows on one side, the huge curtains filtering the fleeting rays of dusk.
Aesop looked up at the man in the painting, captivated by the sheer beauty of the man himself. The fading sunlight caught onto one side of the painting, the white of his hair glimmering under the light, creating a mesmerizing three dimensional effect.
The frame itself was beautiful too, silver glittering and reflecting onto its surrounding walls, the light casting soft shadows onto the crevices between the swirls.
Aesop tore his eyes away, looking down at the other paintings hung on the corridor. The once bright colours pale next to the new addition, creating the foreground for the main canvas.
Closing his eyes, Aesop sighed, turning away. He has had a long day, and is most certainly exhausted. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room, his shoes clicking against the cold marble floor.
As he was closing the door, Aesop felt a prickle of unease, and glanced into the room.
Nothing but the painting stared back at him.
He closed the door.
The next few days were considerably peaceful. Aesop didn't really have anything going on, spending the free time taking up the gardener’s job, watering plants and setting up the chairs in his garden for if an unexpected visitor decides to drop by.
The uneasy feeling in Aesop’s gut has never gone away, and yet, every time he looked around, nothing was out of the ordinary, with everything as still and silent as the stillness of the light.
He shrugged it off as the stress from his work.
Aesop never really forgot about the painting. Everyday, from seven while eight, he stayed in the room, sitting in the tranquility of nothingness, thinking.
He thought about his mother, how she made time for him every year despite having to take care of his step father.
She would be quite appalled at the way he was sitting on the floor right now.
He thought about Lady Michiko, a foreign mistress who had set up her business in England and, against much criticism, started working by herself.
The first time his mother had Lady Michiko, she had nodded her head, a small genuine smile gracing her lips.
His mother’s approval wasn't easily earned, and to see her approve of his friend had made him quite delighted.
There was the sound of a loud crash from downstairs, snapping Aesop back to reality. One of the housekeepers must have hit something.
Aesop blinked, standing up and brushed his clothes, before tidying his hair. Even if he did not care much for the large sculptures built in some corners in the house, it still had to be addressed with the servants.
He looked back at the painting, before starting. The subject’s eyes were not looking up, but right forward, the oil painting’s gaze piercing right at where Aesop was.
Aesop rubbed his eyes, before staring back. The man was staring up at the ceiling, one of his hands held next to his head, long fingers resting against the dark background.
Biting his lip, Aesop turned away, walking out of the corridor. It must have been a trick of the light. He had more pressing matters to get to.
Aesop must be seeing things.
That was certainly a logical conclusion. He must be suffering from a lack of sleep recently, or that he had drunk too much sherry recently, despite disliking the burning sensation of alcohol.
The sense of paranoia had been growing, and he swore that every time he turned his head, there was a flicker of white from the corner of his eyes. Yet whenever he whirled around to that corner, nothing was out of the ordinary.
Oh goodness, what if he had the plague.
After an appointment with Mesmer’s Infirmary, Aesop was cleared of any suspicion of having the plague.
But the plague aside, there was no other explanation. He was feeling perfectly fine, but his eyes, or more to say, his mind, was playing tricks on him.
All of that was tossed aside that night, when he was walking down to the corridor.
Needing to sort out some official documents, Aesop was forced to stay in his office later than usual, and by the time he had finished, it was already a quarter past eight.
It was already past the time where he would sit in the corridor, and Aesop’s head was slightly dizzy from the amount of documents he had to read through today, hence he had decided to retreat back to his chambers and rest early.
He wasn't driven by any sense of responsibility, it was pure coincidence that he decided to double back to the library to read before slumbering.
Right as he was passing by the corridor, there was a small crash from the room.
Aesop stared at the closed door in confusion. The servants were all asleep, and the only ones that were allowed in his room was his head butler, Eli, and himself.
With small, careful footsteps, Aesop gently opened the door, peeking inside.
There wasn't anything amiss, and everything sat in its original places. The moonlight slipped through the cracks of the curtains, creating small silvers of light shining on the floor. At the end of the corridor was the painting Aesop had bought in the auction. Its silver frame was hidden in the shadows, not to say the painting itself.
But..there was something odd, there was a delicate finger hanging out of the frame, and the colour of white sleeves resting on the silver.
Petrified, Aesop’s eyes inched up.
The man in the painting wasn't lying down anymore. Instead, he was leaning against the frame of his portrait. Blue eyes, painted with small careful strokes stared at the curtains, red lips rested in a small frown.
The man was still oil painted, just…moving. There wasn't a sign of real flesh or cloth, but oil-based colours and the thin layer of resin lying above the canvas.
Goddamm it, Aesop knew he didn't have the plague.
His hand slipped, causing the door to creak as it inched forward. Aesop’s breath caught in his throat. He reached forward, barely managing to catch the door before it slammed into the door frame.
He should really get someone to oil the hinges soon.
His fingers managed to catch onto the door, pulling it back before it closed. He smiled in relief, before looking up.
The man was staring right at him.
The two looked at each other for a second, a strange night breeze caressing Aesop’s hair.
Aesop felt his heart jump to his throat, looking down hurriedly and closed the door as quietly as possible, leaning against it while his fingers started to pick at the seams of his nightgown.
He should really go to sleep. The weariness was messing with his brain.
Aesop took in a deep breath, his heartbeat slowing down into its usual rhythm as he calmed himself. All these days of work must be driving him insane.
He hurried back to his quarters, ignoring the urge to look back.