Blacks, blues, damn it she was going to make browns. With rough hands the young woman took out the four tubes of paint that she normally used. It was all she would need, and perhaps she would live without the luxury of white. A punishment for her current situation, and for the lack of control over her emotions. She threw the tube back in the box, yes she would live without it.. A pallet, a canvas board (small in size), the tubes of paint, a handful of brushes, a jar of water. They all went onto the ground. She felt the rag, letting the dry brush scrap against the tattered fabric. Eyes looked out into the distance, the beauty of summer standing right before her. Browns, she thought with a frown, dropping the rag and brush she reached into the box for the last supply.
His voice frightened her. Mati turned, the pallet knife in hand and eyes wide with surprise. It was not his tone that scared her, just the presence that startled her. His voice was low, drab and yet an odd spark was laced in the syllables. The Church woman met the violet eyes with purple ones of her own. They were so similar, Mati had looked at the color of hers in a mirror in the Manor many times. She knew the color, and it was like she looked in that glass this very moment. They were not hollow like the tone of his voice, but held the deeps that she saw in the setting sun and then lights that told her of a lavender’s petal. “I was going to paint” She explained, still not sure where he came from and what he was doing here. And yet she no longer wanted to use only browns, and blacks and blues. He was a welcomed distraction, even if she didn’t know it yet.
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