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He would always love her. In every colour, shape and form she took, he loved her. His beautiful Aline.
Even now, as she stood near the edge of the Monolith, no longer the same woman from before the Fracture, but a streak of silver and gold against the ever growing darkness of the world around her, broken and incomplete. Like her tender heart. Like his beloved family.
Ever careful of breaking the serene quiet that surrounded her, Renoir kept the lower end of his cane hovering just barely above the ground as he softly walked up to her. She didn't turn to acknowledge him. A sad, gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he set his cane down soundlessly before him, resting his hands atop it, one above the other. She needn't talk if that was what she preferred, he would stand beside her regardless.
Nevertheless, if all his assumptions were accurate, their son would be arriving at the top of the Monolith shortly, and Renoir wanted to ensure Aline was well away from here when he did. So, he drew in a silent breath and parted his lips.
"Are you planning to come to the Manor, my love?" His voice carried out gently in the air. He had hoped to plant the idea in her mind and ease her into it. Their home was the safest place for her for the time being.
Aline did not respond for a few stretched-out moments, so Renoir simply waited patiently, watching her out of the corner of his eye. When she did finally speak, sorrow and grief were enlaced into her tone.
"Leave me be, Renoir." The weariness of it contracted something beneath Renoir's ribs.
"Alicia has been working on a lovely poetry piece lately." He tried again. "She'd been wanting to show you--"
"I wish to be alone."
He straightened, fingers curling tighter around his cane, and did not push on. There was nothing he could do but respect his wife's wishes. "Very well, my dear."
He remained rooted to her side while she stood half a step ahead. That was who she needed him to be, a solid rock she could lean back on if she ever needed to, a rigid backbone who would support her in all her decisions, a man who would fight with her not against her.
In his more tiresome days, Renoir found himself longing to trace the soft plush that fleshed out the curve of her cheeks again. He wanted to remember the warmth of her knuckles, lingering beneath his thumb, like it did when he used gently rub coaxing circles on them. And her eyes. How he missed them terribly. For sixty-seven long years, he'd been denied from looking into the beautiful windows of her soul, and forced to stare into a carved out face instead, hollow and chipped away. The things he wouldn't give, just to lose himself in their colour again, if not for one last time...
A loud thrum suddenly thudded in his ears like a stone being dropped, the heavy sensation rippling through him confirmed what he had already expected. His head titled to the side, glancing over his shoulder.
Verso had arrived with his Expedition.
"Renoir?" Aline must have noticed the shift in his demeanour.
His features softened as he turned to face the Paintress. He smiled, eyes drifting upwards to admire the white strands that floated so elegantly above her, and reached out, taking her hand into his. He found no warmth in her knuckles.
"Do not concern yourself, my love. I'll take care of it." He bowed his head to place a kiss over the finger where her wedding band would've been, murmuring into it. "This will all blow over and we will all be home soon. Together."
He smiled up at her again, before his fingers slipped away, and he turned towards the narrow path. The coat around his shoulders swayed behind him with a slight flourish every step he took.
From the very moment he opened his eyes in this Canvas, Renoir had this deeply embedded nature to stand in between Aline and whoever so desired to harm her. Back then, he hadn't known his world was a painted one. He only knew of his passion for his wife, his daughters, and his son, and that he would do anything for them. He would live for them, sacrifice all he had, kill anyone lest they wanted to harm them. He would protect them from everything, even if it came to themselves.
Verso needed to understand this, that they were his real family. But if that stubborn boy was not willing to reason peacefully, then so be it. There were other means get back what he had lost.
Renoir entered the cave, certain he was fighting for the right thing.
He would always fight for her, just as he would always love her, no matter the colour, shape, or form. No matter if she was the wife of a man who chased their very shadows, she chose him. And he loved her. He loved all of his family. It did not matter if he was painted to be this way or not, he would do what had to be done to get them back.
And even if she was not truly his Aline, she was still beautiful Aline.