What to paint

Chapter 6

You didn't think that she meant to do it. She already had Scaramouche's patience was wearing thin. If anything you thought that the nerves and anger had made her shaky. You didn't believe that she would even consider stabbing you with a needle. Even if she wanted to make him mad, to have an actual reason to be punished and yelled at. She couldn't have meant to do it.
It didn't save her from a severed hand.  Within a second of your startled and pained gasp. Scaramouche had moved. The teacup shattered across the floor. The woman was lying in a pool of her blood and glass. A curled-up hand laying a few feet away from you. Then you were led away by Scaramouche, his hand on your side.
"Why am I shaking?" you asked a few moments later.
The adrenalin had yet to wear off. Yet the memory had already decayed. All the fear you had momentarily felt was gone, replaced with a worried and confused feeling. It made sense for you to be scared, if anything you should have been more scared. You knew something had to of happened but you have no idea what, why, or how. You didn't know what to do to calm down. You didn't want to paint. You were scared to remember. Scared to not try.
Scaramouche stayed quiet. He led you to your room and let you sit on the bed as he drew you a bath. He saw the broken pile of wood, ripped and shredded canvas. He ignored it for now. After he got you to the bath then he would look into the matter. Only after you calmed down would he deal with the other problems there were. You could hear the soap and oil bottles hitting each other from your spot in the bed. Part of you was touched, he was doing it for you. Nonetheless, you continued to sit on the bed until he came back.
The water was a little too warm at first. You had to move slowly at first so you had time to get used to the water. The bathroom was huge. It was a castle so it made sense, but the stained glass window in the bathroom was beautiful. Through the glass, you could see the glow of crystal flies. It was nice to relax. It was like the water melted away your anxiety. You looked at the ornate divider. It was carved with a crane and roses. A beautiful gown hung over it.
You heard Scaramouche's footsteps in your room. You didn't care to question what he was doing. You liked being alone for this short while. Even if you had forgotten that you were anxious the water felt so warm and you didn't really wanna leave yet.
Scaramouche was looking at the canvas remains in the other room. He stared with an ice-cold glare at the pile of trash. A perfect portrait now cut to pieces. The man was quiet as he collected it. He removed it quietly by himself all he said to you was that he had something small to take care of and that he'd be back soon. It was back soon but he nearly killed someone on his way back to your chambers. He was too pissed of and the poor messenger almost had his head cut off for just handing Scaramouche an envelope.
The difference between you and Scaramouche was a simple one right now. Only one of you got to see the way that you cut off the woman's hand, and only one of you knew why you were so scared when you did it.