Memory Echo: Iris — The Paintings I Remembered Too Late

Reincarnated as a Background Character — Boss Fell in Love With Me

Memory Echo: Iris — The Paintings I Remembered Too Late

Fragment Recovery: 84% → 91%

Emotional Stability: Responsive

Cognitive Access: Partial — Visual Memory Reconstructing

Medium Anchor: ARTIFACT | "Canvas of Dreams"

Echo Type: Artistic Recall

I remember the first color, a vibrant hue forever etched into my mind's eye.

It wasn't blue like the vast sky, nor gold reminiscent of the sun's warm embrace, and it certainly wasn't sunset-red, bursting with passion.

No, the color that marked my earliest memory was gray — a rich, heavy gray that filled the air just before the first snowfall blankets the earth. It was soft, enveloping, and patient in a way that suggested it understood the weight of time and memory.

That was the color of the paper they handed me at the orphanage, where art became my refuge—a place distant from neglect and abandonment.

Instead of charcoal, I used ashes to sketch, remnants of a once vibrant fire that burned with memories not meant for my hands.

Not just any ashes.

Ashes.

Even then, I was painting the future that felt so far beyond the grayness surrounding me, imagining bright worlds that existed solely in the confines of my mind.

[Memory Trigger: Handmade Brush – Material: Owl Feather + Thread]

Status: Found in East Tower Storeroom

Emotional Surge: Mild | Echo Stable

The next memory that surfaces is his shadow, an unmistakable presence that loomed large within the dusty corners of my mind.

Raze.

He'd lean against the doorway, a striking silhouette watching over me as I worked. While he pretended to be nonchalant, I could always sense when he held his breath, a testament to his investment in the dreams I brought to life — especially when I dared to paint skies that the system had no file for, colors that defied documentation.

One day, he asked me a question that resonated deep within my soul: "What are you drawing?"

In response, I offered a simple yet profound proclamation: "A day that doesn't exist yet."

Instead of dismissing my aspirations with laughter, he replied with understated sincerity, "Then it matters more than any day we've had."

Now, as I sit in contemplation, the canvas I once cherished has become tangible once more.

It is broken. Burnt at the edges, marred by my own struggles and time's unforgiving hand.

But it is real.

Against all odds, Velzeria found it hidden away in the vault, buried beneath layers of forgotten memories and yet somehow, it has survived.

My brushstrokes remain intact, the vibrancy of my pigments preserved.

My rebellion against the starkness of my reality, captured in color.

[Memory Log: "The Five Paintings of Iris"

1. A Window That Faces No Wall — an ethereal piece painted in the deafening silence that enveloped my early years.

2. Raze, But Not Quite — a poignant work left unfinished, the only element complete being the depth and intensity of his eyes.

3. The Empress Asleep — a regal figure curled under a tumult of ashes, devoid of her crown, embodying quiet strength in repose.

4. A Garden That Never Grew — an explosion of hopeful, reckless green that spoke of dreams unfulfilled and possibilities unexplored.

5. The Last Painting — a stark, blank canvas bearing the title "Me," signaling an identity still seeking its form.

The last painting, however, remains incomplete.

I find myself unable to finish it, a reflection of my ongoing struggle.

I do not know what I look like anymore.

Not in the present.

Not truly.

But every time Raze utters my name—

The strokes seem to flow more effortlessly from my fingertips.

Today, I picked up my brush and painted once again, invigorated by the act of creation.

Velzeria watched me from the shadows, her usual silence echoing loudly against the vibrancy of color I dared to bring forth.

I sensed it hurt her — seeing colors dance beyond her control, hues filled with life and defiance.

Yet, she chose to remain, a silent witness to my artistic rebellion.

When I revealed to her the garden painting, she whispered softly, her voice tinged with longing:

"That's what we're fighting for, isn't it?"

I nodded in affirmation.

Even though, deep down, I still can't recall having planted a single thing in that imagined garden of vibrant greens.

[System Warning: Irregular Entity Memory May Influence Reality Geometry]

[Response: Suppressed – Protected Under Pact-Bound Emotional Field]

[Risk: "Dreams Becoming Geography" Level 2]

If I can complete these paintings…

If I manage to remember all five in their fullest essence…

Will that finally make me feel real?

Or will it unravel something deeper within me, something I'm not prepared to face?

Perhaps it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Because every time Raze gazes upon my work—

He remembers too.

And I find myself believing that memory, in its raw and unshackled form, is stronger than any prophecy we could conjure.

[Echo Stable – 91% Recovered]

Awaiting Completion of Final Canvas: "Me"

Estimated Trigger: Touch by Raze or Revelation of True Self

To be continued...