A Tale as Old as Time

VII

The flickering flames on the candles distorted light in a way that was mesmerising, but at the same time frustrating for the busy artist, who was trying to finish his latest piece. Black storm clouds blocked out nearly all the sunlight, and the candles were going to burn themselves out soon. It was all playing with the perception of his painting.

“I'll just tell him I'll do it when the sky clears,” Francis grumbled as he put away his paints and cleaned his brushes. The supplies Arthur had gotten him were nice, nicer than any he'd been able to afford. He wanted to make sure the portrait could match in quality.

After everything was put away for another time, the Frenchman stood and stretched. He loved painting, but he did not love how sore being slumped over a canvas would make his back. Hopefully, when this was finished, he could do something he was more interested in.

So, while he had some time to himself, he decided to look at the other paintings that Arthur kept in his room. While it was strange to be painting in somewhere so private rather than an open room, the Briton had been very clear when he told Francis that none of the paintings were ever to leave his bedroom under any circumstance.

The ones that he hadn't already spent hours poring over were refreshing, and he made sure to take in every detail. That was until one very particular painting on the floor caught his eye.

It was the colour green that brought him over,and seeing that one portrait made him stop. Like the others depicting Arthur and his family, it had been clawed up, but this one did not look as severely damaged. In the painting, Arthur was only a teenager, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Even in this painting, his eyes still held the vivid intensity they did now, despite the fact that he was very clearly human in the painting. It was strange to see him without the scales, the forked tongue, or with eyes like a snake’s. He almost could've been attractive without all the serpentine features, too, provided he didn't let his sour personality get in the way of things.

Francis wanted to ask about that. So far he had seen no paintings depicting Arthur as a young adult, and he still didn't know what had happened to Alfred. However, the asking the serpent could be outright dangerous knowing him, and Alfred had gone strangely silent the one time he tried to ask.

So, he eyed the painting a moment longer, then he remembered what he had seen the first time he had been brought into this room. Something glowing faintly red, not in a malicious way, but in a way that Francis couldn't describe. He looked over to where he had first seen it, and saw what appeared to be a glowing rose.

Seemingly in a trance, he stepped closer until he was at the small table that the flower was on, with a glass case. Around it were several shriveled, blackened petals. Why would Arthur have something like this in his room?

The serpentine master was supposed to be seeing to something downstairs. Francis took a quick look over his shoulder before lifting the glass off the enchanted rose to get a closer look at it.

There had to be some sort of purpose behind the rose. One of the petals was wilting before his eyes, and he reached out to touch it.

Suddenly, he heard a loud hissing from the other side of the room. He felt all the blood drain from his face as Arthur crossed the room, slammed the glass back on top of the rose, and hissed again, baring his fangs at him.

“Get out of here! Don't you know what damage you could have done?!” Arthur spat, holding the glass protectively. Francis backed up, growling at him, then he bolted out of the room.

Forget his promise. Forget any of this. He couldn't stay a moment longer. He'd find a way to free Alfred once he was back home with Matthew.

And so, he ran. He ran as fast as he could, he ran until he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.