Ephemeral Longing

The Potrait

The King made his way through the chamber, past tables laden with exotic fruits and sweets, and ornate tapestries that told the stories of his ancestors.

Finally, he came to a section of the chamber that was veiled by thick, red velvet curtains. He pulled them aside, revealing a small alcove hidden behind it. In the alcove was a painting, its frame ornate and intricately carved.

It was a portrait of a woman with long, flowing raven hair, emerald green eyes, and a smile that seemed to light up the entire room. Her features were delicate and her skin was as smooth as porcelain.

The brushstrokes were as vibrant as if they had been applied just yesterday. Everytime he looked at the woman in the painting, he could feel her gaze upon him, as if she were right there, in the same room with him. The inner peace he felt was indescribable.

Maybe this time, it will become reality. Maybe this time, he will finally be able to look into her real eyes, admiring them, allowing himself to get lost into them.

The Portrait was the start of it all.

On that unforgettable day, where he was on a trip as a young prince, passing by a small village nestled between two great mountains, he noticed a small, makeshift market in the center, where a variety of goods were being sold by the villagers.

Amidst the colorful array of wares, that's where he saw it. That's when he saw her. The king was instantly captivated; he felt as if he had known her his entire life. Without hesitation, he approached the elderly woman who was tending to the painting.

"I must have this," he told her, almost as if he was commanding. "I must have her."

The woman looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ah, young king," she said, "you think you know what you want. But be careful, for the heart has a way of playing tricks on the mind."

The king brushed aside her words, certain that he had never felt anything quite like this before. He offered her a generous sum for the painting, and she accepted with a knowing smile.

As he rode away from the village, the painting of the woman resting safely in his saddle, the king felt a new sense of purpose. He no longer felt the weight of his crown, or the emptiness that had plagued him for so long. He knew that he would never truly understand the woman in the painting, but that didn't matter. She had become his ultimate goal and he knew that he would stop at nothing until he found her.

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What if she wasn't Her? What if he had been wrong all this time? But then, what if she was? The thought of finally finding Her after all these years sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the King waited for news. He paced his chamber, unable to sit still, his mind racing with thoughts of what she might look like, what she might be like. He imagined their first meeting, the way she might react to seeing him.

Would she be frightened, or would she understand the depth of his feelings for her? Would she find him creepy? Or say that he has gone crazy?

Well, if she did, he won't blame her at all. A man whom she has never met or seen before, searches years for her and even goes as far as to fight wars just to claim her. It is insane. 

At last, there was a knock on the door. Atlas entered, followed by a young woman whose features could have been carved from the finest alabaster. The King's heart nearly stopped as he saw her. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

She was dressed in simple peasant garb, but despite her humble attire, there was an air of nobility about her that set her apart from everyone else in the room.

"She is here, Your Majesty," Atlas said, bowing his head. She followed as well.

„ it's Her " the king said, his voice barely audible. Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought to maintain his composure. Finally, after all these years, she was standing in front of him. It was too good to be true. He was afraid. Afraid that this turns out to be just a dream. Or Hallucination. He couldn't simply believe the reality.

With his heart beating fast, his forehead forming sweats, he forced himself to walk with regal bearing as he approached the woman, his gaze never leaving her face. 

He reached out a trembling hand and touched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. "You are the one I have been searching for," he whispered.

The next thing that happened was beyond the bonds of possibility.