Brand had decided to convert the library into an art studio. The four of them painted after lunch. Since Seri could not draw a flower to save her life, she painted lines and dots and squiggles on her board, all different colors and sizes. Over time, this turned into an elaborate series of curls that filled her canvas like an unruly maze.

“It looks like new vines growing over a fence,” Brand remarked, with a smile. “Like you’re gardening your art.”

“I’m just doing what I can,” Seri said, wiping the paint off her hands. “I can’t paint like you do.”

“But I couldn’t do this.” Brand gestured at her canvas. “That’s what makes art so interesting. It’s not just the technical skills. It’s how the painting acts as an expression of who you are.”

Seri looked at her painting. Brand’s words had merit, for her art was a bit of a mess. Thousands upon thousands of halting, imperfect marks, trying in vain to form some sort of pattern. A pattern that meant nothing. A pattern that hid her own small talent and mediocrity.

“You can have it, if you want it,” she told Brand.

He looked startled. “I can?”

“By all means. You can paint over it and—”

“No!” Brand said loudly. “No, this your work. I wouldn’t do that. You gave it to me, and I’m going to keep it.” After a slight pause, he added softly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Seri said.

She left her painting and began to clean her brushes. Gretchen had already painted her entire canvas black, and was now staring at it, like it was a portal to another world. Seri collected Gretchen’s brushes and cleaned them as well. She was really starting to worry about Gretchen. It had been two months, and she had hardly uttered a word.

Nel was still drawing on her canvas. She hadn’t even started to paint.

Just your typical, run-of-the-mill day. Seri did her best to paint, but after an hour, the pains raging through her body made it hard to stand and to hold her brush properly—or even see. Staring at one thing for too long gave her a headache, and spots broke out over her vision. It scared her, honestly. It was one thing, knowing the curse was affecting her bones and skin and appetite, but when it began to change her senses….

But even if Seri were well, an hour was probably her limit. She was not like Brand and Nel, who could paint for hours upon hours, almost without pause. If they weren’t painting, they were sketching, or mixing colors, or consulting one another on ideas and techniques. Seri often sat and watched them and thought it strange how, at times, the minutes would tick by with hardly a mark upon the canvas; and then, suddenly the paint would come thickly, and the canvas blossom with color.

Mostly, Brand’s canvas. Nel worked slowly and deliberately, but Brand had fits of action, times when he’d smear the paint with the palette knife in long, broad strokes. In those times, his body relaxed, and he moved in a loose, fluid way. He’d smile and hum. But during detailed work, his body coiled tight, his face became expressionless, his eyes focused. His hands would go still, and when he made his strokes, each motion, each flick of the wrist was so slight, yet so precise, so controlled. His hands never trembled. It was sort of amazing. Seri never saw Brand so calm and steady as when he painted.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Nel was also transformed by the act. She stood straighter and held her head higher, and at every compliment Brand paid her, she bloomed. Brand was quite free with the compliments, naturally, and so, Nel grew lovelier by the day. Moreover, there was a sense of harmony between them. When they painted separately, they seemed as mirrors to each other. But when Brand came over to study Nel’s painting and they both peered at some detail together, when their shoulders brushed and their heads hovered close together… at those times, Seri could almost see them as husband and wife.

Could that happen?

Was Brand actually considering proposing?

Seri finished rinsing the brushes and laid them out to dry in the sun. She checked on Gretchen, but Gretchen, as usual, had nothing much to say, so Seri left her alone to contemplate her painting. Normally, Seri would also sit and watch Brand and Nel together, but winter was coming, and Seri needed to prepare for it. So she pulled her aching bones up the long set of stairs, to retrieve her sewing. But her mind was still on Brand and Nel.

Brand and Nel…

That conversation had been odd. Brand asking if it would be wrong to propose to Nel… Seri was still half-convinced that Brand brought up the idea of marriage as a way of toying with her, of getting under her skin. But it had been the second time he brought it up, and when he spoke about marrying for love, his tone had changed. He was serious. If Brand married the girl he loved, he’d have no reason to keep kidnapping other girls. He’d admitted as much.

Seri grabbed her quilting scraps and thread and needle and made her way back down the stairs. Brand and Nel…. Ordinarily, she’d be against Nel marrying Brand on principle. But Nel was already being forced into a terrible marriage. Brand might be an improvement. And he was just so sweet around her. So incredibly patient and kind. Despite his taunting remarks about seducing Nel, Brand hadn’t (so far as Seri knew) tried to kiss her or touch her or force her into bed with him. He’d been quite courteous to Nel… far more than he’d been to Seri.

A sharp sting pricked her chest, which gave way to a lingering heaviness. Seri sighed. It wasn’t fair. She tried so hard, but no matter what she did, Brand wouldn’t change. Not for her. But all Nel had to do was smile and say a few kind words, and suddenly Brand was a new man.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. The point is not who gets him to change. The point is that he changes and puts an end to his evil ways. Once Brand was married, he’d be happy, Nel would be happy, and Seri could go home.

She opened the door to the library.

Brand was standing at Nel’s canvas, sketching with a bit of charcoal and explaining about dimension. He glanced at Seri, finished his explanation, and handed the charcoal to Nel. Seri sat down and tried to arrange her sewing. Brand walked over to her, rubbing the soot off his hand with a rag.

“And here I thought you’d finally tired of playing chaperone.” He leaned against the table, and added in a low voice, “You know, if I were going to seduce Nel, it would be in my private room, late at night—not in our art studio, in the middle of the day.”

“Maybe I just like watching the two of you paint,” Seri said.

“Really? And how are you to watch, when you’re busy with…” Brand glanced at her scraps of cloth and frowned. “Sewing? Why are you sewing? You hate sewing.”

“It needs to be done.”

“Why does it need to be done?” he said, rather loudly.

At this, Nel turned. Brand gave a small shake of his head, and Nel went back to her drawing. Brand took a step closer to Seri.

“Seri,” he said softly.

“It’s getting cold,” Seri said. “Our rooms don’t have fireplaces. Gretchen gets sick a lot, so I thought I’d make her a quilt and some warm clothes.”

“You didn’t you tell me you were cold.”

“It’s not a big deal. I have plenty of fabric.”

“I will buy you what you need.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“I know you’re perfectly capable of! That’s not the point. I will provide what you need, but I need to know what that is.”

Seri pulled her arms into her chest.

“Seri,” Brand said.

“We could use more blankets,” she finally admitted. “Bedwarmers, too. Warm underwear, jackets. Perhaps some candles, to read or sew by. And I—”

Her throat tightened. She looked down.

“What do you need?” Brand asked gently.

“I’ve been… I’ve been gaining weight. My dresses no longer fit properly.”

Seri waited for him to say something. To rub it. Not that it mattered what her body looked like. She just hated to let him know how much the curse was affecting her.

Brand drew in a long breath.

“Write me a list,” he said, at last. “Put down your new measurements. I’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow.”