being taught under the Désire Mélodis was quite a feat.

the noble having taken you under his wing when the upper class turned their noses up at you.. and now, groveling for forgiveness under his heel.

but that’s hardly a thought to you now, as the art professor idly paces behind you, watching as your fingers delicately grip the paintbrush you’re holding. as you guide the paint across the canvas, you can’t help but think..

he’s staring. much too long.