Light footsteps echoed softly through the grand hallway.
On both sides, rows of doors lined the corridor, each one quietly welcoming her presence.
Her steps stopped before a door with a brass plaque that read:
Art Room.
A slender hand reached for the handle and turned it.
At once, the sharp scent of turpentine filled the air, stinging her throat with its strong and pungent aroma. It mixed faintly with the smell of oil paint, wrapping the room in a haze of color and memory.
The rhythmic sound of brushes gliding over canvas and the low hum of conversations created a melody that made the space feel alive.
Near the open window stood a middle-aged man in a pale blue shirt, a polite smile softening his features. He looked up from the large wooden desk before him, his expression warm and welcoming.
"Come in, miss," he said kindly.
The girl nodded slightly and stepped into the room.
She closed the door behind her, her eyes sweeping across the space before walking toward an empty stool. In front of it stood an easel holding a blank 40x60 canvas.
She set her bag down beside it and glanced around to observe her surroundings.
On her right, a blonde girl sat focused, painting a detailed Renaissance-style portrait.
On her left, a young man stared silently at his canvas, where only a few black brushstrokes had been made.
The middle-aged man walked closer, stopping between the two students. In his left hand was an open notebook, and in his right, an old, worn pen.
"May I know your name?" he asked, still smiling.
"Seraphine. Seraphine Aurelline."
The room instantly fell silent.
All the eyes that had been fixed on their own canvases froze.
All the hands that had been painting stopped midair.
Seraphine glanced around, meeting the astonished gazes of those now staring at her.
Some looked at her in disbelief, while others gazed with admiration.
Her eyes hardened slightly, showing a trace of irritation and quiet disappointment.
"Aurelline. The daughter of the Aurelline family," the man murmured. He paused for a moment before continuing. "I had heard that the Maestro's daughter enrolled in this university, but I didn't expect to meet her so soon."
Maestro. The Maestro's daughter.
That was how everyone recognized her, the label that always came before her own name.
Everyone knew her because she was the daughter of Alaric Aurelline, the renowned painter celebrated for his masterpiece Nocturne of the Hollow Sun. The painting told the story of losing the one he loved most, and it became his final work before retiring.
As Alaric's only child, Seraphine had been expected to inherit his genius.
With the weight of the Aurelline name behind her, doors opened easily for her.
Everyone respected her, admired her, and even this university had personally invited her to study here.
But Seraphine despised that title, The Maestro's Daughter.
It stripped her of identity and individuality.
No matter what she did, the brilliance of her family name overshadowed her completely.
On the first day of class, she had promised herself she would change that.
She wanted to be known not as the Maestro's daughter but as Seraphine Aurelline, her own person, defined by her own worth.
Yet that hope shattered the moment the man before her spoke those words.
Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
She already knew what would happen next.
Everyone in the room would expect her to paint, to perform, to prove that she was worthy of the Aurelline legacy.
And they would all be watching.
"Miss Aurelline," the professor said, closing his notebook. "I'm Professor Elias, and I will be your mentor for this art class until the end of the term. I hope my lessons will serve you well."
Then, glancing at her blank canvas, he added,
"For today's class, I want you to paint anything you wish. I'd like to assess the skills of each student I'll be guiding."
Just as Seraphine had predicted, now that they knew who she was, they would demand a performance worthy of her family name.
She nodded quietly and reached for her brush.
Her hand trembled violently, and she tried to steady it with her other hand.
"No need to be nervous, Miss Aurelline," Professor Elias said gently. "Just express what's in your mind. Pour your soul and creativity onto the canvas."
But beneath those kind words, Seraphine heard what he truly meant.
"Show us what an Aurelline can do. Your family's name depends on it. One mistake, and your legacy will crumble."
Seraphine closed her eyes.
In her mind, she whispered the same words again and again.
"It's only a small exercise. The colors are just colors. They mean nothing."
When her heartbeat finally slowed, she dipped her clean brush into a shade of gray and made the first stroke.
The sound of the bristles scraping against the canvas echoed in her chest.
Each movement tightened her lungs, as if every stroke she made was a mistake she could never undo.
It always felt like this when she was forced to paint.
But this time, something felt different.
It was as if something was watching her.
Something behind the canvas, alive, restless, and waiting.
Time slipped by.
Her hand slowed, then stopped completely.
The room fell into silence once more.
Everyone stared at her canvas, and what they saw was not what they expected.
They had imagined a masterpiece, a stunning display of talent worthy of the Maestro's bloodline.
Instead, they saw only rough, uneven gray lines, streaked aimlessly across the white surface.
"Miss Aurelline?" Professor Elias whispered, confusion crossing his face.
Seraphine glanced briefly at him, reading the disbelief in his eyes.
Around the room, whispers began to spread.
"So talent really can skip a generation," someone murmured.
Seraphine lowered her gaze.
Her fingers still trembled as they held the brush.
Their words echoed in her mind.
Talent.
Bloodline.
The Maestro's heir.
All of it felt like chains tightening around her throat.