Rome In The Sky: Daybreak

CH 3: Quickdraw, Move

PAXXA

Pax sat in her chair, a twenty-four by twenty-four inch canvas in front of her. Warm air drifted from the open window, gently moving her shock of red chin length hair in little waves. Dainty features and ocean green eyes studied the piece of art closely. The boy in her painting was about five, wearing a smile and holding a vermillion rose as bold as the girl's hair. She was adding a few small strokes to the painting here and there, the oil paint gliding smoothly, the soft wood pleasing to her hand. A stack of open books and notes lay on the desk, untouched.

She leaned away, with a sigh and a small closed lipped smile.

Painting was her last true respite. A close second to exploring the woods surrounding Lykanhill. She had created many works, which covered her walls. Of wolves, of trees, mountains, streams. Mirages of some of her favorite memories. She told herself if she immortalized the good ones, it would keep the things she wanted to forget from forcing themselves back into her mind, uninvited.

Most times, it worked.

Over the last decade, as she trained to take the helm of the Wulfenguard, St Wolf's native army, her father slowly forgot how to love her.

She blamed him for things, fallout in the wake of civil unrest. The citizens had split down the middle, and she and her little brother would walk the streets of Lykanhill amidst noise and chaos and fire, her mother beside them, a shield. Then she watched her father's greed poison minds. She would wake to shouting in the Keep, wrapping her pillow around her ears to sleep. And after some time, that shield was no longer there, and their father's darker nature spread like a swarm, and took away the things she loved the most one by one. So now they would play a game. She would rebel, and he would retaliate, and each time, he grew more callus, more churlish, more cruel. The court around her never looked too closely. She was, after all, Paxxa Van Laed, the Vermillion Wolf, young genius, heiress of the Wulfenmaster, and it never occurred to anyone to care how she felt.

"Pax, dear," a maid peeked her head through the door, interrupted her musing, "you've gotten yourself preoccupied again haven't you. Ya know you ought to be studyin."

The girl flicked the pages of an open book with disdain.

"Oh dear god. Can't you let me be for longer than thirty minutes..." Pax said, rolling her eyes in fake annoyance.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I did that."

"We both know they don't pay you nearly enough to be here."

"Sure, added pay besides room and board, even room and board such as the one I get here in the Keep, would certainly sweeten the pot a little. If only everyone could be as good as your brother was, bless his soul."

"If only." Paxxa said, eyes to the painting, reminiscing, her smile quickly souring as she tried not to start crying.

'Dammit, not again.'

"Oh, oh you poor thing! Come here."

The maid strode over and wrapped her arms around the girl.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Pax."

"No," Pax said, choking up. "No it wasn't you. And you're not wrong. I wish I could be as sweet and kind as he was. I'm just too...bitter inside. Can't make that go away." She shrugged.

"Oh sweetheart, but you will. In time, you will. Give yourself that time."

"You know," Pax said, becoming animated, her tears drying, "they always say that time heals all wounds, but these days just draaaag, and I still don't feel any better. Work some magic and make the world spin faster. I hate it here, sitting with my nose in these musty old...books," she spat. "I wasn't built for books, they're bad for my health."