524 The muse- Part 3
Calhoun turned around with one hand of his that rested on the table, "But you finally found me," he said, looking at the dainty creature who made her way to where he stood.
"I did," she agreed, and her eyes fell on the parchments that were spread on the table. "What are you reading?" she asked in curiosity.
"I was looking for spells if my mother left it behind. There are some writings that are written in the demon language. Hopefully, we can make use of the spells if we ever need it," answered Calhoun. "I would have asked Vladimir, but seeing how cunning he gets with the give and takes, I thought it was better to rely on these."
"Your mother seemed like someone who was very passionate about life," whispered Madeline when she caught sight of some of the drawings and the details that Lady Constance made.
Calhoun pulled out a worn-out book from the edge of the table, and he placed it in front of Madeline, "This book was a gift to me. It has almost every creature's drawing that exists on these lands," said Calhoun to her. These were beautiful, thought Madeline in her mind. "If you look closer, you will find wordings in there." And he was right. The drawings did have intricate writings in there. Calhoun tore one of the pages and held it above the candle. Instead of it burning slowly by catching fire, it turned to specks of sparks within a second and Madeline looked fascinated by it.
"Don't you need it?" questioned Madeline.
"There is no need for it to exist as I have memorized them all," and within a few seconds, the book was utterly gone, leaving not a spec of dust behind. "Let me show you something," and Calhoun pulled Madeline in front of him and he placed a lone candle on the table.
Madeline wondered what Calhoun had on his mind as he put his hands around her, holding both her hands before bringing them up and near the flame of the candle. The gallery room was moderately lit, and they were alone and away from their troubles that stood outside the room, leaving them be for now.
She felt his chest press on her back, and his head coming to settle on one side of her shoulder, "An angel is the representation of ice, and the demon is represented as the fire," whispered Calhoun softly next to her ear shell. She felt a shiver run down her body as his breath felt warm. "There's a veil of difference between the two and the kind we belong to because they aren't far apart the way people believe it to be. In fact, they are the light and dark that balance the entire world."
Saying this, Calhoun's hand that was supporting the back of Madeline's hand, he guided her near the flame and scooped it in their right hands as if it was a drop of water.
When Calhoun tried to wrap her fingers, the flame slowly dimmed down as if she was hiding the flame, and when she opened her fingers, the flame flickered. It startled to crackle and manifested into a little bird.
Madeline didn't know what Calhoun did, but whatever he did, the flame of the bird started to fly away from the palm of her hand, and it started to flutter itself in the room, moving from one place to another without burning anything.
Her brown eyes keenly watched the bird hovering in front of a canvas that was covered in thin cloth. As she took a step forward, the bird went to sit on one of the bottom edges of the canvas, burning the thin cloth that had hidden the painting underneath it. The bird had turned to fire as it spread itself from the corner to the very end of the material. The fire had left her startled, but when it had exhausted itself, she caught sight of the painting, and her eyes turned wide. For a moment, it was as if she had stopped breathing and everything around her stopped.
"This…" she whispered, looking at her being painted on the canvas. It was her sleeping on the couch, and she remembered the day it was painted.
Madeline had believed it would be the most atrocious painting anyone would ever lay their eyes upon, but instead, it was nothing close to it. Her eyes were closed, and it was apparent that she had fallen sound asleep. A coat was draped on to cover her, and Madeline wondered why she didn't remember that coat being there on her.
Calhoun stood behind with his back leaning against the table, watching Madeline's awestruck expression, which was mixed with a hint of confusion in it. He then slowly pushed himself, walking towards her.
"This was what you painted that day?" came the surprised question from Madeline. Calhoun chuckled. She remembered when she had turned tired after holding herself in one pose, that had led her to fall asleep.
Calhoun came to stand behind her, putting his hands around her waist, and letting his chin rest on her shoulder without putting his weight on her.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" said Calhoun with a faint smile on his lips as he looked at the painting along with her. Madeline couldn't help but agree to his words, not because it was her, but the way Calhoun had captured her in the painting. "I couldn't help but hide it. I didn't want others to see what I saw, my sweet innocent rose."
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