The Tender Muse's Portrait

[Vailyn]

Allora didn't know what to do. She had planned on saying a number of things to him when she saw him but all the words faded away once she stood before him. She didn't even notice that Jane left. So odd how varying thoughts and emotions will war, cloud and fog up one's mind and then, something as simple as meeting the gaze of the one you care about, could make it all go away.

The study had become a harsh, cold place that she associated with her Father and stress. Yet, on this night, a warm fire blazed in the fireplace, countless candles were lite and cheerfully dancing in the faint breeze, and the center of it all was Nicholas with his canvas and paints.

There were no anger in Nicholas' brown eyes. Those warm eyes that seem to show her every emotion that he felt. They were almost as descriptive as his hands that flew and fought over paper or canvas to bring to life the object of his sight. Whatever he may have been thinking of feeling disappeared as soon as he saw her. When Nicholas saw her, she became the center of his world and she knew it. She knew that he did not see anything other than her.

Allora forgot about the gown she wore beneath the decadent cloak. She forgot until he pulled on the drawstrings and pushed it off her slim shoulders. The chill of the evening cascaded over her and goosebumps appeared on every part of her skin. Her impertinent nipples curling into tight nubs that proceeded to demandingly prod against the sheer silk robe. A slight shiver ran down her spine and the fireplace gradually warmed her back.

Before she could react to being unveiled, Allora's ears captured Nicholas' gasp. Her face burned bright red and the blush rushed to spread down her silky body as his gaze seem to touch her everywhere. She reacted to his gaze as though it were his hands flitting, caressing and exploring her body all the way down to her toes. Her knees squeezed together as that unfamiliar burning desire unfurled between her legs. Her toes raked into the bear skin rug beneath her feet. It felt so soft and course at the same time. An oddity of conflicting textures.

She has become an oddity of conflicting desires.

And when his ardent, all seeing, all consuming brown eyes worked their way back up her body to meet her gaze, Allora's lips parted in wonder at the joyful smile the beamed at her.

The next few minutes flew by as she was placed on the chair and he arranged her to sit: her left hand placed on the armrest, he pushed her back to rest against the high back of the chair, her head lay on the chair back and tucked a bit to the side so she could only look at him from beneath her dark lashes. She almost stopped breathing completely when Nicholas worked on the sheer robe lacing beneath her swollen breasts. She felt every light touch of his strong hands manipulating the lacing and the robe until the material cupped her body with pride and lay snug against her sensitive rose white skin.

For a second, he stepped back. She thought he was done but he came back. His calloused, strong hands moved her legs until they were crossed one over the other. He placed her right hand in the lap of her crossed limbs. But before all that, she kept feeling how his hand felt as it moved along her naked thigh. The delicious shivering ache that grew with his caress. Longing pooled within her and she wondered if it escaped to leave evidence on the robe.

Looking directly into her eyes, Nicholas raised her right hand, smoothed the palm until it was nearly open or awaiting to be handed something and kissed it softly before placing her hand over her burning heart of her. Vaguely, she wondered if he could see the wetness that seeped out of her. She wondered if he could smell the sweet scent of her arousal. Allora had not known that she could make such things from her body. She had not known many things in life but it seemed that Nicholas was the one who opened her eyes to the warm of passion that was birthed in her by him.

He stepped back to look at her. To fully see the pose he had formed with her body and she grew delightfully happy to see his wide smile of appreciation and inspiration. She wasn't sure if she would ever tire of the look he gets in his eyes when a vision of what he sees becomes the focus of what he creates on canvas. The passionate energy of him being thick of creativity was alive and engrossing to see. To know that somehow, she could inspire him to be at one with his art was humbling to feel.

She had expected awkward words and confrontations. Perhaps shared vows of... of something she dared not hope for to be but hoped for nonetheless. She thought he may be angry or overwhelmingly passionate with that adamant conviction he always speaks from and instead, she finds herself ensnared by a whirlwind of his creative genius and silently happy, glowing and sensually aware as he painted her form with colors of the world.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

It likely was hours, but the time flew past like the brush did over the canvas. Nicholas lost in the trance of the beauty and lost in the world of performing his art kept no sense to time. Only when the brush in his hand seemed to tell him that no further strokes were needed did he come to realize that the evening had drawn on so long. Now becoming conscious of his work, he looked over the grand canvas. It appeared as though Allora was as lifelike in oils as she was in person. He not only captured her as he had posed her, he did so perfectly. Every line, every color, every shape, every hint of her being was there in the painting. Technically, it was a masterpiece, with little evidence of brush strokes, with changing of shading to match the flow of the firelight had on her skin, down to every detail of every nuance of her freckled skin. He even captured the light curl of her toes that could not hide her nervousness. Yet it was the aesthetics of the work that brought out it’s wonder. In that one sitting he truly pulled forth the beauty, the innocence, the wantonness, the full depth of Allora.

Nicholas routinely lost himself in his work, but this was the first time he genuinely felt that he didn’t create his own art. He had no recollection of the process,only the memories of studying his subject for the last few hours. This painting, however, appeared far more advanced than he ever believed his skills could create. This was the work of a romantic master, one that is beloved in the great cities of Europe; not of his own hand. Instead, it sat in front of him, a testament that he held that skill, he held that mastery.

Fully aware now, he clasp his hand to his mouth, nearly laughing from being overwhelmed by the result. He turned to Allora, she still sitting dutifully in her chair for him. From behind his hand, he surely wasn’t hiding his joy from the outcome of the painting. Still, he was now realizing that the girl, so obedient in her poise, must be tired after a long sitting and after an equally long day. It was then he began to remember that they still have so much unspoken challenges that need a voice. Maybe this was not that time, but maybe in his joy and maybe with the the gift of seeing the work before she leaves it will be resolved.

He stood up from his stool, crossed the short distance to the chair, then knelt down at her feet. His smile never left his face, proof of the satisfaction for the job she performed. He laid a hand softly on his knee, gave a long sigh, and spoke.

“The painting, it is marvelous. The greatest I could ever be. I will show it to you, soon, but I hope you hear my words first.

“My Allora, you did not deserve the trouble I gave you this morning. I had no intention of upsetting you. I must confess, I was worried you would not even come for your portrait at all this evening. I know your father expects it but …” His voice trailed off, as his head dropped away from her gaze.

He smiled, turned back to her and continued. “I think it can be difficult for the rest of us to see that you suffer from troubles living in this place. You came her so sweet, so kind. I remember the first time I painted you, and your dress came undone,” he laughed lightly on the memory of it all, “and it seemed like you were almost childlike in the exposure.” His smile turned more serious, more confident. “Tonight though. Tonight, you are clearly no longer a child. You are clearly a woman. I think I did all I could to capture that.” Subconsciously, his eyes moved down her body. He tilted his head as he looked at her breasts that hinted their way through the robe. “I can see now you look to be no different than us. To find your own happiness.” He looked further down her body, where her hand laid over her womanhood. With his on her knee, he was tempted to move it to open up her legs, even feeling his hand applying slight pressure to do just that.

With a quick breath he turned his gaze back to her face. With a shake of his head he refocused. “What I am saying, my lady is … I meant what I said this morning. You deserve your own happiness. You deserve to be happy.”

 

[Vailyn]

Time passed in fits and starts with long winding pauses that seemed to last for hours as Nicholas worked feverishly on the painting. At first, Allora felt out of place as wantonly exposed in her seated position on the chair. Though it was night, there was nowhere to hide herself for she was the feature upon display. No other has seen her in such states of disarray.

Since she has left the Abbey, it seems as if all the things that Allora had believed or taken for granted as a part of her life has been turned upside down, inside out or completely taken apart to be reshaped as something utterly unfamiliar. It was one thing to know in a passing manner that there was a whole world of knowledge that she did not possess. It was wholly another matter to be thrown into a warren of strange matters within a space she thought she knew.

Allora had been taught that one should live a modest life, to be mindful of one's manners, to chose to live one's life in honor and with the will of God's grace upon one's actions. Yet, what she had experienced here did not seem to fit easily with the strictures she has been taught.

Those that worked and lived at the castle did not seem to be evil people with ill intents. She could not say that they all lived as she has been taught to live but she felt as though they were all good at heart.

The acts between men and women are a confounding mystery to her. The way she feels when she is with Nicholas made her feel whole-fully light, joyful, utterly confused and sinful.

Was it not a sin for her to feel such desire for a man that is not her future husband to be? Does that mean that she has a wanton heart and must pray for forgiveness of her sins?

What about the heart? She learned to search her heart for the truth. To let her heart guide her decisions. Her heart feels many things for Nicholas. Many wonderful things mixed with fear caused by inexperience and ignorance. The answers that she has learned frighten her because they shake the very foundations of what she thought to be true. It is all so different from what she had known.

It is not a sin for one to seek happiness. That as long as those involved are aware and consent to be together, it is alright. Yet, is that true? Is it alright? Because she felt a terrible sadness and some fair bit of anger when she recalled how she found Nicholas in bed with two women. Not just any women but two females that she was getting to know and felt as though she could call a friend.

It was hard to sit still in the pose that he created. Not because it was hard to sit as thus but because she had to fight herself to not hide and run. It made her realize that Nicholas wasn't just an intriguing man that sparked her curiosity but someone profoundly important to her.

The way he saw her mattered.
What he thought about her was important.
How he felt about her signified everything of value.

'I love you.' she thought. Knowing that he did not realize the paths of her thoughts. He was entrenched in his work and working constantly on the painting. Little aware of her as a person but as a part of the art that he was creating. "I know not when or how but I love you, Master Artist. I do not know when it came to pass. How I fell for a man I have just met. Yet... I..."

Allora felt as though the chair held her up in a giving embrace. The lights in the room held at bay the chill in the air. Not enough to take away her body's reactions to it. If one looked, parts of her skin pebbled in a subtle goosebumps. The rosy nubs of her awakened desires stood proudly displayed under the sheer lace. The dewy wetness of her heart's longing did not fade or dry. It pooled and seeped slowly from within her to lay slick between her legs. The fires from the fireplace the candles danced a mysterious ghostly dance over her whole body. Even the occasional wisp of cool air that danced into the room from outside only made her more aware of how utterly at ease and open she was to him.

'I love you.' Her heart sang the sweet truth over and over again. The happy bloom of rosy joy painted her face in a glow that made her radiant.

At long last, Nicholas put down his brushes and knelt before her. His eyes caressed her as he spoke confidently. His words enveloped her. They strengthened the truth that sang within her.

"You deserve to be happy."

Allora's long, wavy locks poured over her to frame her delicate face as she leaned close to Nicholas. Her bright eyes gazed lovingly into his dark ones for an age before she looked down to his lips. Ever so slowly, she crossed the tiny sliver of distance between them and laid her lips sweetly on his.

A kiss.
Soft.
Sweet.
Innocent.

She pulled back that smallest sliver of distance and shared a glorious smile with Nicholas.

"I love you."

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Allora’s lips felt like he was being brushed over by the softest of rose petals. Her kiss seemed as innocent as the girl who first stepped into his life a short few days before. He eyes showed a greater understanding of her actions though. Her words, above all else, showed that she was the woman she had become in such a short time.

Maybe in a different time, in a different place, Allora’s words would be frightening. A lady of the Blackwood Manor, professing her love for something no more than a paid servant. A woman no older than a child, only days from a convent, who barely has seen enough of the world to understand what she may want. Nicholas, the more worldly of the two, more aware and understanding of the consequences of such confession should be torn in what stood now ahead. Nicholas should be frightened, should be shocked, above all else he should at least have been surprised.

Yet he felt none of that.

Her admission echoed in his own heart. His soul understood what she said. It resonated in his bones, gripped at his being, returned through his own mind. He profession of love wasn’t speaking things that were a threat; they felt more like sharing what was obvious. How had she not opened her feelings as much to him in their few times together? How did she feel so trustworthy of him to do pose her in ways that should have told her it was indecent? How else to explain the way she looked to him? And indeed, how else to explain how he struggled so deeply this whole day? Why he would run to her after she found him that morning. How he himself confessed his desire to ensure her deserved happiness.

His hands lifted to her face, cupped her soft cheeks, and he closed that sliver distance and kissed her a second time. It was longer, his mouth opening slightly to suckle on those soft lips. When finished he leaned his forehead against her, his fingers still stroking her soft skin.

“I must show you this painting,” he whispered.

He rose to his feet, taking her hands and guiding her to follow him. He could not help but to watch her legs as they uncrossed and allowed him to see why lie between in the dim light. As she stood up he drank in her body as it shifted under the light robe. He paused for a moment, his hands still holding hers, and breathed, “I hope the day will come when you can ever believe how beautiful you are, Allora. I hope you can see what I can.”

He guided her over to the painting, having her turn to stand in front of it. He stepped behind her and slid his arms around her sides and placed his large hands across her stomach.

“I have never painted like this. I never believed I could paint like this. I am sure soon I will see the flaws I made, wether this color chosen or that brushstroke; but tonight, right now, it seems flawless.” His head dipped down to lean more into her neck. “You bring this out of me. You are my muse, my inspiration. I am not capable of such work without you.”

He placed his lips onto her neck and let the wetness of his kiss cool her skin underneath. He held her back into him, letting the warmth that beat through his veins surround her. By the embrace, he felt like he could protect her, keep her forever, as his. He turned his head and looked back at the painting.

“I love you, Allora. This painting is the words you spoke first. This painting is what showed me that I feel for you like you do. I love you. I love you. I … Love you my tender muse..”