The Eye of the Beholder [Stefano Valentini]

The Seventh Portrait: A Lesson in Joy

Little Red Riding Hood.

Rapunzel.

Snow White.

Over the span of two months, these and more had been created and destroyed under Stefano's guidance, all immortalized through my camera. My weekly visits to Stefano increased to every other day, and now, not a day goes by when I don't see him; I have even become such a regular at the Grand Hotel that room 304 is under permanent reservation thanks to Deborah's payment. I do not know much about him, but I don't mind. If he wants to tell me anything, then he will. He is precise with his work, and is amazingly passionate. I find myself stunned with how dedicated and loyal he is to his art on many ocassions. Watching his whole expression light up is like watching someone wake upon Christmas morning; it's rather beautiful. Sometimes, we will share materials, taking turns to be creative with whatever Stefano brings. At very rare times, we'll do a collaboration, melting our passions together; his preferences always dominate, of course, and I have no problem with it. But with us as people, there are some changes. For some reason, I am always at Stefano's right side, even when I am simply approaching him; he always gravitates to my left as well. Our arms lace together whenever we walk, our closeness often resulting in compliments about our 'relationship', though we never correct them. I always seem excited at the chance to see him, and it was getting difficult to remind myself not to get carried away. He's taught me so much about the person behind the mask, and I am sure that everyone else has noticed the little pep in my step or how I was stepping out of my comfort zone more often whenever he was involved. Isla believes that we are in love, and perhaps - though unlikely - we may. He has these strange ticks that seem to infuriate him. He'll brush his knuckles against my cheek, or take a lock of my hair between his fingers. Sometimes he'll pull me closer, and his brow will furrow in thought and frustration; almost like he isn't aware of what he's doing until it's too late. It makes me wonder what's going through his mind, but I won't ask out loud.

After all, it's none of my business.

Currently, I'm lounging in Stefano's hotel room while he looks through some of his recent photographs. I was murmuring the acoustic version of 'Kleid Aus Rosen', which was a song about a girl who met a tattoo artist, often switching between the English and German lyrics. I was surprised that Stefano had not asked me to stop, but he seemed tense whenever he thought I would cease. I was sitting on his bed, my back against the bed frame and my knees drawn close to my chest. In front of me was his knife, its golden hilt and curved blade glistening in the light. I stared at the weapon, my bare toes curling into the comforter below. "What does it feel like?" I asked, looking to the Italian's back," Holding the knife?" Stefano paused his examinations, looking to me from over his shoulder," Why not find out for yourself?" I looked back to the knife, my fingertips peeking out from my extra long sleeves. I felt his stare as I grasped the knife's hilt, shivering a little at its cold surface. I let my legs escape from the confines of my large sweater, stretching them out before shifting to make myself comfortable, my knees know bent in front of me with my feet free. I brought the knife closer to my face to get a better look, watching my reflection in the silver metal. My other hand raised, carefully pressing against the blade to test the sharpness. Stefano seemed to tense at this, watching my finger with extreme interest. I looked to him for a moment before looking down to the knife, smiling a little; of course he kept it at peak condition.

"It feels... surprisingly light." I murmured in the silence, shifting my hand this way and that to watch the light beam off of it," It's so pretty, and it's so sharp. I feel weird holding it, but I'm growing more comfortable with it I guess." Without taking my eyes off of the glistening murder weapon, I asked," Why do you use a knife?" "It is more intimate." He replied, and I nodded in understanding. Getting up close and personal with a blade designed and destined to kill you is quite intimate, and it would make for better impact in art. "Will I use a knife?" I asked, and he chuckled," You are quite curious about feeling death in your hands today, aren't you?" I gave a tiny smile, still not looking to him," Well, I've never taken a life... But you look so pleased when you return, so I was wondering if you gain a sense of completion or something along those lines when you cut into people." "Everything I do for the sake of art pleases me." He replied, and I never noticed him coming closer until he was sitting on the bed in front of me," Do you wish to find out?" I laughed a little, still entranced by the knife," Maybe not now. I'm so happy with where I am now; any more happiness and I may go mad. 'Normal Rhea' will break if I'm not too careful." "It is good to know your limits." Stefano commented, and I saw that smile from the corner of my eye," But be aware that you must cross that threshold sooner or later." I nodded, still lost in the pleasant glimmer. "You like it that much?" He asked, and I nodded again, not replying.