It was a sad story how it had ended with the Duchess. I remember painting her painting and I remember her blushed cheeks when she thought she was flirting with me. I made her look alive, because that’s how I saw her. She was glowing and smiling to everyone around her. She was the light on a dark day that Duchess. She was innocent as no one else, but he couldn’t handle it. I didn’t have to make any effort to make her laugh, and her sweet smile warmed up the room. Poor girl. I noticed she had many admirers and I predicted from the start that it would only get her in trouble.
He made me paint her with a smile, so that he could see her smile and pretend that it was only for him. He didn’t say, but it was obvious. I knew a thing or two about body language. He seemed so possessive about the damn painting. It was just a painting. I guess now it’s more than just a painting, now it is a memory of her and it is gloomy how he looks at the framed work on the wall as if no one sees the intimacy between them. It has become a fake intimacy, for she is not real anymore. I see how he covers it up with a curtain so no one but he can look at her, in a mad attempt to keep her to himself. I sometimes regret what I witness, but I cannot take it back. Perhaps he enters this imaginary world with her and I let him be, for as the artist I am I know how reality is only for those who lack imagination. I have escaped that reality many times myself and I wouldn’t blame anyone else for doing so.