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Lady Rowena

'Milady, I cannot help but to notice the dramatic aspect of the paintings along the halls of your magnificent manor. Do you have perhaps knowledge upon the type of dye the artist you fancy so much used for those?' 

'Sir, as much as I would fancy to satisfy your unbounded curiosity towards arts, I am afraid I cannot answer such as the artist demanded secrecy upon his technique and resource. Would his magic perish from one secret to had escaped my lips, I would truly have to pay it back with my life and it would not be enough to weigh against the art I have soiled.' Lady Rowena voiced with a truly concerned look painted over her features, or so it had seemed to the all too benevolent lord that did not push the matter further. Luckily helped by the intrusion of his own beloved lady that curled her gloved arms around his own.

'Bewitched as well, my lord?' Lady Rowena inquired, approaching gently. 

'Perhaps, my lady. But do not be retained from your party for my sake for I am rather less social than your other guest that sough to be entertained in the salon.' 

'Very well, if that is your wish, I shall not oppose.' She smiled, her blush pink tiny lips pursed together in a warm and charming smile, as her angelic white hair curled pretentiously in long swirls, framing her innocently looking features. Her gaze was something else altogether; as far I was concerned by always being invited - more like dragged along by my fellow companion and friend, Adrian - I had learned her looks by heart. Lady Rowena was a refined gentle looking lady with hair as white as an angel feather, always put up in a exquisite fluffy tail pinned with a vanilla colored comb and curled meshes around her face. Her straight fringe shaded and softened her gray eyes that looked like somber glass. Her lips were small and skin so white many lords were fooled to consider an eastern heritage on her behalf though she gently avoided voicing an answer to their curiosities claiming it was not elegant of a lady to speak of her age or past. She was always dressed in light colored garments to emphasize the uncommon color of her locks; tiny elegant stilettos,  powdery fine tights, flowing ample skirts in layers, embroiled corsets, bare shoulders, detached sleeves and gloves. 

Just as the day I had found her laying lifeless. 

Lady Rowena was enamored with an artist she fancied for his straightforwardness in expression that still managed to retain a peculiar mystery: the works of the said artist were hanging in great number along the hallways of her mansion, reigning in their sumptuous redness; the artist only painted in reds and would not disclose to anyone the provenience of such vivid shades that provided the uni-color art pieces the depth of fully colored ones. I had learned the name of this gentleman at a latter party of Lady Rowena's; one at which the gentleman was almost always at arm with her like a pair of lovers. He went by the name of Laurent Rosewood and was a fairly handsome gentleman with hair as dark as the crow's feather and eyes a warm shade of brown that always seemed to show a glint of sly playfulness. 

She pried briefly from the gentleman's arm; time I had lost them both from sight. A scream that sent the coldest shivers down my spine had me bound towards the source. Behind the heavy oaken door of Lady Rowena's study, I've seen the most dramatic scene painted before my eyes. 

She laid with the lifelessness of a fine marionette in her velvet armchair, eyes like glass marbles and lips parted with blood painting them messily with its red. Her white garments were splattered with the same red as a dramatic portrait of still nature. A silver knife glistened of the same redness of fresh blood in her gloved hands as her corset was single lined by a thin trail of blood. She looked paler than ever, as if not only she just died but all her blood left her. 

Several weeks after this event, rumors about murder cases alike to this one kept going on about in the city: beautiful ladies found lifeless and drained of blood and the mystery of a raven-haired lover that was never to be found again.    

I found myself troubled to find out that my friend Adrian found company in a certain dark haired gentleman that fancied painting and was working on a portrait for my dear friend at the moment. Though I was proven that I had worried in vain for my friend for I found him well and alive though of a peculiar pallor of face as he opened the door for me. 

Quietly he told me that his butler just notified him his artist friend laid lifeless on the floor of the room in which he painted, no trace of blood near his body though his canvas was all one red and still wet. I had found in stupor that the artist was indeed Laurent and he had been as well blindfolded with a ripped and white piece of fine cloth that I recognized as being part of Lady Rowena's garment the day she died.