LOVE STRUCK: Dimensions In Motion

Chapter 7

The cart rattled over cobblestones, but my mind was elsewhere. The brushes and pigments in my lap felt heavier than they should.

"What happened in there?" Ruka whispered.

"He wants me to paint his portrait," I murmured, barely louder than the clatter of the cart.

Simone's eyes widened. "His portrait? You?"

I nodded, avoiding their gazes. "He didn't give me much of a choice."

Ruka frowned, her concern clear. "Be careful, Kalynda. He doesn't do anything without a reason. If he's taken an interest in you..."

I clenched the supplies tighter. There was no use dwelling on it now. I had a task ahead, and that was all I could focus on.

As the cart rolled toward the manor, I tried to shake the weight of the day off. But his piercing gaze still lingered in my mind.

When we arrived, the maids scattered to their tasks, but I stayed behind with the bundle of supplies. The steward appeared, his face unreadable.

"The master will see you in the drawing room," he said.

I followed him through the manor's grand halls, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The drawing room was grand, sunlight spilling across the floor, but the master stood by the window, his figure a sharp silhouette against the light.

"Set the supplies here," he ordered, gesturing to a small table near an easel.

I unwrapped the items carefully. He watched, silent and imposing. When I finished, he stepped closer.

"You will begin tomorrow," he said, his voice low. "I expect nothing less than perfection."

I nodded, avoiding his gaze. "Yes, sir."

He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and I left the room, a strange mix of relief and dread settling in my chest. Tomorrow would be another challenge, but for now, I could retreat to my room and try to make sense of it all.

---

I woke to the sound of birds outside the window, the early morning light creeping through the shutters. It was a moment of peace before another day in this strange world.

After dressing in my plain servant's clothes, I splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection in the tarnished mirror. My hair was tangled, but I worked through it quickly, tying it up in a tight bun. The pale blue scarf I always wore kept the stray strands in place.

Once ready, I joined the others in the hall. The manor was waking up around me, but I felt detached, just another part of the machine.

I gathered the supplies for the day, the familiar weight of brushes and pigments now feeling heavier than before. As I walked to the art room, the master's presence loomed in my mind. The air felt thick as I approached the door.

Inside, the scent of oil paints and aged wood filled the air. The room was dim, the silence heavy. I set down the supplies, my hands trembling as I arranged them.

Two hours passed before the master finally arrived. His footsteps echoed in the hall before the door creaked open. He entered, the room growing colder with his presence. His eyes found mine instantly, dark and calculating.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice commanding.

I nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving me. "You will begin now. Perfection is the only acceptable result."

I picked up the brush, my hand shaking slightly. I focused on the canvas, ignoring the nerves that crept under my skin. With each stroke, the portrait of the master began to take shape—sharp jawline, cold eyes, the furrow in his brow.