Hibiscus And Pinwheels| Kamukoma

🌺 Chapter 4 🌺

The depiction of trepidation. Beatific watery strokes of dusky pink, entwining with splashes of beige emitted an ostentatious presence on the canvas. Sprinkles of chartreuse and cerulean paint drops have been splattered across the sheet of white, creating the unambiguous image of a tree. Blossoming pink flowers had been drawn on the brittle wooden tree, against a coverlet of blue and white. Zephyrs of white clouds were drawn so realistically, that one could see them moving across the vast azure sky on the painting. Watercolour paint had been used to taint the once monotonous canvas into something exquisite and elegant. It was this elegance that made it so wanted and admired across art galleries. Yet, this flamboyant piece of hard work had been tossed and pirouetted around people without a sense of delicacy. In the end, the painting shivered on the white walls as it watched the people raise their hands up and down with numbers. These numbers were rising by the second along with the tension. The watercolour strokes on the painting watched the trepidation on people's faces as the minutes glissaded along. One of the places where people's skin paled into a snowy blanket of white and their veins started to shake was at an auction. The painting knew that all too well as it was witnessing the consternation with its own two liquid eyes. Another person exclaimed a number, an amount that surpassed the other quantities. That person held up a little white sign that proved they were serious. The painting felt its own paint strokes grow pallid as other humans stared at the floor in shock, trying to figure out if they should make a bet higher or give up. As if it was a pattern, another bidder exclaimed a number. With each new number, came another new nauseous face. It was ridiculous. Finally, when an absurd amount for the painting arose, everyone succumbed to silence. Their faces distorted into melancholy and their eyes were wide. Their pupils seemed to have gone astray, as they did not look anywhere else than the floor. The feeling of losing swivelled against their hearts and the painting sighed. There was no compensation for the hope that everyone had inside of their hearts, the hope that they would obtain the painting. Instead, wonder turned into ambition, desire turned into trepidation and fear turned into losing. This was a depiction of trepidation. I sighed and folded my arms, my fuchsia suit receiving creases near my elbows as I did so. The snowy white quartz walls solicited for me to stay as my patience was misshaping. My tolerance was attenuating with every second, like an ultramarine nylon thread feeling lacerated as it was outstretched. I tapped my foot against the kyanite flooring while my eyes started to feel drained with boredom. I closed my eyes and loosened my arms. I was here on a mission and I blatantly knew that I should not be wasting time. Yet, here I was standing aimlessly in a hall, with another exorcist, waiting for the Queen. I reopened my eyes. If the Queen did not show up soon, then I would take the initiative to search for her. Any more cold hours wasted and thrown away like a shooting star cascading through the sky, would only lead to me staying in this realm longer. I certainly did not want that. My left hand travelled towards my forehead and messaged it, as if a headache was squalling inside my head. There was a list in my blazer pocket, that stated all of the cons I had to perform. The quantity of people had grown over time and since no ghost wanted to fulfil the swindles, the list has grown to an inconvenient amount. This meant that there was more for me to do. It was a shame to be honest, I would have liked to only do one con and exit this realm. However, that was not the case. I have not counted the amount of people on the list, but I knew that it was a hefty amount. Nevertheless, all of them were going to defrauded and deceived by the end of my trip. No doubt about it. I hummed, trying to think about other subjects to keep me from strolling out of the room. The first person on my list was a Royal Exorcist, which was why I was in the palace in the first place. In order to get closer to this Royal Exorcist, I had to obtain the same occupation as him. The only difference was my occupation was fake and his was real. Normally, there would be a variety of ways to con someone. Despite this selection, I always started my cons in the same way. The first objective that I had to achieve was figuring out this exorcist's daily routine. It was always the routines that made someone vulnerable. If one went to the same location, at the same specific time everyday, another person would know where to find them. If they went to several different places everyday, then someone else would not know how to find them. Truthfully, people never think about what minuscule types of danger can develop from their routine. In fact, they think that a routine is being efficient and organised, which is true. However, some actions can have qualified reasons and still make one exposed to danger. I glanced around me, capturing a soft glance at the Royal Exorcist who had just walked in. He seemed quite perplexed at first, as if he did not think that he was in the right room. Although after a minute, his senses returned as he realised that he was in the correct room. We had not spoken a word, nor did either of us want to. Actually, I can not talk on the behalf of the exorcist but I knew that I had no intention for engaging in a conversation. There was nothing to say and I did not even know who this exorcist was. I stared at the opal doors, awaiting for the Queen to rush back in and start explaining what I was doing with the sceptre. I sighed, I should not engross myself with a conversation with any exorcist. Worst case scenario, they may even figure out that I am a ghost if I talk to them so it is better to stay away. I was not a socialist anyways, I had never been one. I stayed in my own small bubble that only fit me inside. That was how life at the Realm of the Ghosts had always been. I hummed. I wonder if I was different before I died. I doubt it, however, it could be the case. I dismissed the thought as soon as it came, I am certain that my stoic personality has always been glued to me. A clement breeze spiralled in the room, swimming past me and dissipating in the air. I blinked, my red eyes staring at the opal doors as they leaped open with energetic enthusiasm. Queen Kirumi stood there, her lapis lazuli tiara slightly crumpling over on her hair from running. In her right hand, held a dioptase sceptre and her left was holding one of the doors open. The other exorcist in the room hastily ambled to the Queen, holding one of the doors for her as if she were a goddess. I frowned, the manuscripts were not exaggerating when they stated that every exorcist respected her fully. There was enough respect flowing through their bloodstreams to be at her beck and call. I blinked as Queen Kirumi straightened her crown and the frills on her dress fixed themselves from a single shake. Being a swindler meant that it was easy and simple for me to detect what someone's personality was. Whether one was carefree and danced with the lake, or judgemental and stared at the stars. My first impression of Kirumi was a carefree, but miserable, monarch who felt equanimity watching mint butterflies gyrating than being in the palace. Her exorcists infatuate her very much, yes, but she could never love them back fully. It was not the fact that she thinks them as ignoble or the fact that she was selfish. There was a barrier stopping her from expressing her admiration to her realm, however, I had no clue what that barrier was. I narrowed my eyes. Perhaps, there was a separate mystery to unravel here. However, a drop of realisation, at the back of my mind, was telling me that her misery evolved from a certain incident.