Portrait of a Swallow

Vermilion

After that night, he continued to walk her home, maintaining a steady distance behind her, watching her as she disappeared within the gates of her home. As she would walk through the darkness, he would highlight her silhouette with his gaze, observing the gentle curves of her frame, the slight sway in her hips. He would examine her foot prints in the dirt road, her three strides only encompassing his one. He would wait until the clamor of her front gate subsided, the candle lit from within her home, before he turned back into the black void of darkness, the moon guiding him home.

Days turned into weeks, the young maiden becoming more accustomed to the schedule of the gentle painter. She would wake up upon her straw mat, and prepare herself for the day, all the while staring at her distorted image through the dirtied mirror. On her walk to his home, she would stare at the clouds, marveling at the myriad of colors that melded together to form the puffs of air, her imagination running wild.

Each morning there would be a bowl of rice and egg waiting for her on the counter, her suspicion that it was his doing proving itself to be true when she arrived earlier than anticipated one morning and caught him tinkering with the fire as he fried the egg. The blush that crept up his neck, the fantastic shade of pink that adorned the tips of his ears made her bite back a peal of laughter, her painter surprisingly bashful when caught.

And then when the seasons began to change, the summer heat dampened with the slight chill of the autumn air, the leaves on the trees only beginning to change into a multitude of colors that would illuminate her path home, he pulled out his bicycle to bring her home, under the ruse that he needed to head to the market at night to obtain additional oils for the next day.

He would mutter on and on that she was just a stop upon his way to the market, that it was no trouble, though always adding that she shouldn't be walking home so late at night. She allowed it though, for the bicycle had a special seat which he padded for her comfort, and as she sat in front, his arms would encompass her, his sweet breath warm in her ear, as she tried to remain in utmost stillness. Most days she would fill the ride with chatter, teasing him on the day's events or merely her never ending stream of consciousness, the silent man hiding a shy smile that would threaten to expose his rapt attention on her, but other days when she would feel the effects of the day wear her out, she would inadvertently fall asleep in his embrace, relaxing into the broad expanse of his chest, as he became intoxicated by the aroma of her soft skin.

When he would arouseher from her sleep, upon the arrival of her home, her lashes would flutter openas he gazed tenderly upon her, until she realized her position and thanked himfor the ride before scurrying into her home. He would stay there after, feelingthe ghost of her body on him, the tingling sensation that overtook him from thegentle press of her weight on him and he would smile like a fool to himself thewhole ride home, the starsof the night sky illuminating the darkness. 

****

Sang-ah had beennoticing the shift in energy within the Ri household. It started from themorning breakfast that she didn't prepare sitting on the counter every morning.Then, she noticed the intensity of the stare that Master Ri held the youngmaiden under. He watched her, when he thought she wasn't looking, the manner inwhich he found himself wanting to interject her thoughts but held himself back,the way he rushed to her side when missed a step on the stairs. Sang-ah watchedthe way he held Seri's hand, helping her down the stairs even though the maidenprotested, the subtle circles he would rub into the back of her hand as sheremained flustered. But they were quick to compose themselves, carrying on withtheir days as if each other's mere presence didn't reduce the other into apuddle. 

But the most concerning thing to her was when she heard Seri regard Master Ri by another name, the manner in which the maiden's sing-song voice brought a dimpled smile to the shy painter's face. When Jeong-hyeok leaves to search for a new patron for his work, Sang-ah takes the opportunity to drag Seri into the kitchen by the elbow and give her a piece of advice.