Waters That Reflect One’s Nature

After a while, Lumiere had finished her piece. It was a painting of a floral scenery inspired by the noble eastern styles in stories she used to read about. Manifesting her imagination in reality, as her work portrays the serene gardens and lakes of oriental palaces. Painting rare flora such as water lilies, peonies, azaleas, and orchids, all accompanied by a calming array of bamboo in the background.

A tranquil garden that dares to calm even the loudest storms within.

A sanctuary to those residing inside.

A place where one can seek refuge during times of exhaustion and woes.

Oh, but it is still not enough. It looks uneasy, so unsure.... Have I done enough, I wonder?

Though I made sure to craft quality paint, it might be the techniques that I lack, I fear. Or am I not that inspired?

The piece mimics a stained glass appearance, similar to what cathedrals in the capital have. A translucent buildup of layers, allowing her to hide tiny details in between, which one wouldn't notice right away.

At the surface of the lake, flower petals and leaves flow elegantly. However, if you look closely, beneath it lies what seems to be burnt and wilted petals, drowning. As if the unappreciative harshness that once held them is what made them sink under the line that separates beauty and flaw.

Ungrateful hands. As if the flora weren't already beautiful. 

The gloomy array of wilted petals continues below like they're already convinced they met the end of their worth.

Her reflective moment was interrupted by the sound of brushes and jars crashing down a few meters beside her. 

After a while, Ziyan's workstation had already become a mess. His supplies were unexpectedly scattered on the grass, along with discarded scrap parchment where he tested the paint first, along with paint-dirtied cloths. In the midst of the clutter, his canvas that sat on his easel made even all the mess a beautiful thing. Goes to show how even in chaos, beauty can manifest. She can't see much clearly, but it catches her attention.

The boy himself sighed as he abruptly went out of his shade towards the riverside with his flask, bumping against things along the way. He had emptied his water jar.

Lumiere found her attention drawn to this lad once again. Her observant orbs follow him as he retrieves water from the river. She wonders about his odd yet intriguing character and what on earth has gotten him into creative pursuits such as the arts.

This one really strikes me as more logical. I can picture him as an archivist or apothecary, even. But art…

For a brief moment, she had an urge to dive into his character. She had always been quite the curious empath ever since. Having a foolish dream to learn and understand all things in the world. This time, however, it can't be so sure that this is just mystery-induced curiosity. Later, it came to her that her mind was all over the place, gathering composure and focus so she could continue working on her task.

Now adding the polishing touches to her calm eastern scenery, finishing it with grace and delicacy after replenishing both her mind and pigment. Within a few more minutes, she finally concluded her work. Tidying up her materials, then stretching with a sigh. Destressing the muscles in her wrists, arms, neck, and back, massaging them a bit, even. 

Looking at the height of where the moon sits prettily, she realizes that it's almost past her curfew. In a calm haste, she took her used brushes, palettes, jars, cloth, and headed towards the riverside. 

It's getting late. Colder, even. I must go back or else they'll think I've been hunted in the forest.

Lumiere carefully washes her materials with the running waters of the river. The colors washed off bleed into pristine fluid and quickly diminish into transparency. It struck her as something poetic and worth having a philosophical sentiment about. Typical of her to appreciate and see meaning in even the littlest of things in life.

Once she got to cleaning the dirty cloth, her unfortunate clumsiness got hold of her. Because, while soaking it into the river, she found herself losing balance. 

"Aahhh!" With a gasp, she fell into the river headfirst, her skirt swallowed the water and held her firm. Upon supporting her landing with the nearby chunk of rocks, she blinks in disbelief.

I beg the deities that nobody saw that! Oh, dear me. That was so…

The moment she regained footing, her eyes scanned the area out of embarrassment, praying internally that nobody saw, especially that fellow apprentice of hers. Climbing up the solid ground once more, she finally exhaled the air that she'd been holding onto. Wringing her drenched skirt out, tipping her boots over, and collecting her washed materials afterward. 

"I'll take this as a sign to go home already," Lumiere muttered to herself as she packed her things, water dripping and blessing the moonlit grass with her every movement.

"This calls for a warm, steamy bath… The river was cold…" She planned while finding her way back home into the forest, leaving trails of moisture that the soil would thank her for.

Hopefully, I didn't make a fool out of myself. Wishing that the stars had distracted his attention.

~~~

In the middle of painting, movement in Ziyan's peripheral vision tempted him to go have a brief look. But alas, he was too focused on adding a tad bit of glimmer to the moon he painted. Only for him to dart his head towards the river upon hearing a splash.

There he set eyes on the same girl from earlier, his peculiar fellow apprentice, who seems to have fallen into the river.

He figured she would look his way to check whether he had witnessed that embarrassing scene, a self-reassurance in a way. So before she could catch him looking, he turned to pick up a pot of paint from the ground.

Taking it slower than needed, then once he got back to facing his canvas, he held the pot in front of him, hiding his face, as if examining it. For some reason, he couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips as he stared amusingly at the uninteresting metal pot of silver paint. Gaze occasionally drifting away from the pot.

For one blessed by the moon, how could she be clumsy even when basked in its light?

Shaking his head a bit, "Seems like her serenity has its cost."