"She was Papa's obsession for the longest time," Marianne said.
She walked briskly, keeping the distance between her and Charles exactly two steps. Following them were two of the manor's guards.
"He couldn't draw her. It was his only failure in life."
Her hands were folded under her chest, and her high heels carved a strictly straight line on the paved road.
"Each attempt made him more irritated. And one day, he gathered the colors and canvas; he burned it all."
The taps of her heels sounded divine against the sky bathed in the orange of the setting sun.
"The blaze reached the second floor. It was the first night in years that he looked at the starry sky."
But even those stars were fake.
"Regardless," — She looked back at The Photographer — "Is it true that my brother promised you my hand in marriage?"
Charles didn't know how to respond.
He glanced at her black heels and elegant ankles.
"As a reward."
Marianne spared him a glance before turning her head back to the front.
