Mirror of the Past: The Villainess' True End

CHAPTER NINE: Longing and Aversion

The room was filled with comforting silence. Lila, seated at the large table, humming quietly to herself as she sketched out new designs for a fashion show project of her college department. Every stroke she makes as the pencil gliding across the paper was precise and careful. At the far corner of the clubroom, shelves were lined with pots and tools, Jaxon immensely worked at the potter's wheel. The gentle squishing sound as the clay in the wheel is being shaped and smoothened by his huge hands meticulously, molding it into a delicate form, blended with Lila's soft hum. My hand unconsciously halted from brushing the canvass, mid-stroke. I glanced over the two who are both locked in their world.

Lila and Jaxon are both art majors, but they seemed to have chosen different specializations. Lila thrived in the world of fashion design, her vibrant sketches are eye-catching and innovative, it reflected her dynamic personality. Meanwhile, Jaxon was into pottery, contrasting his rough and edgy appearance, when he's in front of the potter's wheel, his fastidious attitude comes out when molding the clay.

It had almost been a week since I joined the Artisan's Den, yet somehow, it felt as though I'd been part of this family a bit longer. The others welcomed me warmly, and even their worry wasn't fake, that I didn't have a hard time blending in with them.

Most of the members of Artisan's Den came from the Art Major program, except for Keiran and me, as we are both Psychology Majors. I discovered this when we went back in the clubroom that day after I caused a chaotic incident, however, Keiran was attending the afternoon class instead which explained why I never crossed paths with him, aside from the fact that I don't give a damn to anyone who. Despite our different fields of study, we both shared a passion for creativity and a desire to explore the artistic process, something that the original Karina won't pursue because she loves to express her artistry with writing.

I chuckled, shook my head, a smile tugging my lips as I returned my attention to my painting. The soft gentle breeze brushed my cheeks, carrying an earthy and subtle floral hint of the huge oak tree outside the opened glass window of the clubroom. Sunlight streamed in, casting playful shadows of the oak tree leaves across the room, dancing lightly with the cooling breeze.

"I've been a fan ever since I came across your column. But I realized that whatever form of art you choose to express yourself, you're quite consistent." Keiran's tone was teasing when he spoke behind me.

I stopped for a moment and turned to him, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"

He chuckled, "Your feelings are always transparent whether you're writing or painting."

"How so? I'm only painting a field of flowers." I looked at him, quite amused.

Keiran locked his eyes on my unfinished canvass, and in a softened voice, he describes what he thinks of it. "The woman sitting on the hill, face hidden with her back facing us, tells me that she's carrying her own secrets, her own heartache, not letting anyone see it, gazing at the field of forget-me-nots that stretched as far as the eyes could see. Her face was concealed, but perhaps, she was thinking of someone who was already gone or holding onto a promise that she refuses to slip away, something that was carved deep within her soul."

Keiran paused for a moment and gazed at me.

"It was said, that forget-me-nots symbolizes memory, love, or devotion. It's an epitome of a lasting bond that transcends time and distance." He took a deep breath and gazed back at the painting with a sweet smile on his lips. "Look at how she's sitting alone in the vast sea of blue. She's alone yet the flowers seem to embrace her from this angle, as if they're keeping her company, reminding her that she's not forgotten, -or it could be the other way around." He looked at me with indescribable expression, a mix of empathy and understanding.