What to paint

Chapter 9

You looked around the castle, any unlocked door you found you opened. You looked and walked inside. You searched in every nook and cranny. Nothing was what you were looking for. You tried to think and create it. But nothing worked. You ended up just tearing out the pages in anger. You were growing more frustrated as the sense of incompleteness and confusion continued to grow.
You continued to look. Frantic searching for something continued to be the one thing you could remember at will. It became more than just a thought and it slowly morphed into the only thing you could feel. Everything that you painted and drew had lost its meaning. Your one joy of creating stopped being satisfying. You grew more and more hostile at the maids who looked and searched for you with your cold meals. You hid and ducked away from prying eyes as your nails dug into your arms. As you abandoned your sketchbook and supplies. At the most, the maids were left hunting for charcoal fingerprints across the castle. None of them found you that day. Your mindless wondering had been ingrained into some part of your mind. I asked you could have given someone directions to a person. Somehow you memorized the castle better than the people who cared for it.
You slept on the floor. It was a quiet room not many people even cleaned it. You had found a variety of things in it. Odd centerpieces, vases, paintings, garlands, candles, and so many other things. There were sheets and pillows. It was an oversized storage room one that things seemed to get lost in. You fell asleep looking through your stash of paintings.
If you had 30 under the bed in your room, this storage room had 70. The piles were scattered. It made it hard for people to find them without you being there. If they found one they would assume it was the only one. Even with your horrible memory you somehow found them all in seconds.
You found some that were just the room itself. It was the most common paintings. Yet you continued searching.
Some of them confused you. A table of tools and paints. A stone tablet covered in blood. A doctor's mask obstructed with a bright light. A desk of diagrams. A to-do list. A jar of something bloody. Something pale. Frantic messy notes. More and more you found paintings.
One of Scaramouche, sitting at a table in spring. The area was surrounded by flowers, a butterfly was painted atop his head with exquisite detail. Another of him, this time resting with his feet in a pond and his hand outstretched towards the audience. Again his face but this time on a dismantled body covered in blood and gore. Another with a city on fire.
None of these you needed. Nothing rang a bell. Nothing made sense and you forgot once again. The paintings had vanished from your memories as you slept. The one thing you've been looking for wasn't here.
If you wouldn't have been so hectic you would have noticed the things you needed to. Perhaps you would have remembered. Maybe you could have solved your problem. Yet you didn't remember the things you needed.
You soon even forgot what you were looking for. That overwhelming feeling that lasted for the longest time fades away. You once again forgot everything. You became confused at the aperence of the Goddess, one of the few people you had been able to recongize, had once again escaped your memory. She held your face in her hands. She dissmissed her guards and servents. Her hands were freezing yet you leaned into them. Who was she?
When the door opened and a man wearing a large hat walked in you just blinked. You had no true emotional response to his arivel. You stood calmly and quietly as he stepped up to the throne of a god.
"Who are you?" you asked the man.
The god and the man at that moment realized, all of their hard work, their planning, and tests have been worthless. Everything they thought was working had suddenly stopped. You had forgotten more than you remembered; the one thing you had always remembered disappeared.