Lifeless Colors
My servant and I found a nice place to live in. We drove through countrylands and farms until we arrived at the mansion. It was a beautiful building with two stories, windows with lovely designs, and was composed of red bricks and white wood. The gardens held flowers of many varieties, the pool was as blue as the sky, and the surrounding land was picturesque. Inside, the new home had chandeliers hanging on the ceilings, antiques of unique cultures, and other assortments. But what amazed me the most was the dazzling kaleidoscope of paintings clinging on the walls. Each one had shown images of landscapes, people, and things. All these marvelous pictures made by the careful hands of a master artist were unbelievably realistic that I could somewhat feel the grass, smell the breeze, hear the chatters of people.
I told my servant to clean the residence, and I escorted myself to my new room. The place was like a king’s bedchambers, with a massive and comfy bed, drawers, and of course, paintings. But there was one masterpiece that caught my attention. I looked at it in wonder.
Surrounded by gold and silver casings was a painting of a beautiful woman. Her hair shone like sunlight, her skin radiated warmth and health. She smiled with joy, but her eyes watered with sadness. Such beauty I witnessed. It was perfection at it’s finest. But a strange feeling tingled on my skin when I beheld those sad, almost living, eyes, an instict to run. Yet it was silly of me to think like a madman. It was only a painting.
I saw something beneath the painting: a journal laying on the floor. I picked it up, and it read thus:
“Lady Serena Langley, wife of Lord Baxter Langley, the owner of this house, was a beauty who found a false love. She was respected and cared by many. She was successful and rich. But she loved a man who loved only his imagination seen on canvases.
Lord Baxter Langley’s love for art was an addiction. He spent more time painting than eating or sleeping. He cared little about his wife, much less noticed he had a wife.
One day, Lord Langley ran out of ideas for new paintings. But, fortunately, he noticed Serena Langley’s gorgeousness, and he asked her if she could be his next painting. She agreed, for she still loved the artist, and hopefully by being the role model, he would love her back.
But Baxter Langley did not-and never will- love Serena. He only loved the artwork he was creating out of her, and every color he places on the canvas, every detail of his wife he pastes on paper, only makes him love the painting more. He would glance at her, and she would sit there, smiling, but he only saw an idea for a new image to copy and paste.
Minutes turned to hours, and Baxter was almost finished. During the ordeal, Serena was tiring at smiling and sitting, but that did not make her feel like fading. She watched her husband paint, and she realized that he will never love her, no matter how hard she tries. All the things she tried to achieve were pointless, pathetic, meaningless. As Baxter began to put the final touches, Serena saw a dark hooded figure in front of her. She saw it’s length less, dimensionless arm reach inside her, grasping with cold skeletal hands ate her soul. She did not resist, she did not protest. She allowed Death to take her to the stars.
Baxter was finished. The artist gazed at the wonder he completed, and marveled at his masterpiece. He looked towards his wife, and found her lying on the floor, her eyes dark, her body pale and still. He told everyone what happened, and they buried Serena Langley’s body where her forefathers rest. Years later, Baxter Langley died of a heart attack and was buried with his wife.
To this day, Baxter’s painting of a beauty still stands, a false love painted by lifeless colors”.
I closed the book and looked at the painting. She was still smiling with her sad living eyes.