May 4, 1789.
Today's the date before the Revolution.
My speech had spread throughout the lands, the message travelling from whispering mouths to listening ears, from tiny villages to bustling towns, from an awakened spirit to another. Each and every Grandee had become one rising force, a force marching and stomping towards one sole destination—the Palace of Grand.
They grew and grew and grew...until the soldiers of their stations couldn't even stop them. Moreover, there were actually a few of them that gave up and cut off their puppet strings, volunteering to join the band of angry folk. They, too, must've been treated like filth.
All it took was a little push, a little encouragement, a little leap of faith.
And the people became powerful.
The only thing left to do now was wait. Based on my memory of what was written in history books (and the affirmative statement of Prince Nathaniel's calculations), our army will be arriving tomorrow at dusk.
I'll try not to let that recurring nightmare happen for real by then. No more running in the woods and dying. Why else would I travel to the past besides preventing myself from death? So no more of that.
...But will this decision take me back to my timeline?
Slowly and painfully, the melody of the piano in my reveries played. Slowly and painfully, I painted a pretty picture to completion.
Taking a deep breath, I finished my last painting with a single, dramatic stroke of the brush. The dips of nostalgic colors filled the canvas with a peculiar tenderness that I cannot easily define. I put my brush down and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It probably slid off my clumsily tied bun. There was someone who would've done these braids perfectly, someone I knew very well.
“Why am I recalling him out of all times...?” I mumbled softly, shaking my head.
My focus shifted to the painting. It was supposedly my final masterpiece. I wanted to touch it but it wasn't dry yet. Art had always been my passion, although I never imagined that I would be such a professional at this. Maybe Khaleesi's hands were more practiced, more gifted. Three months here and I still remind myself that this body isn't mine. How funny of me.
Maybe because I got so used to living here as Briar Rosette.
I stared at the painted young man playing a painted piano, and then at the painted young woman watching him just several steps from behind. I stared at the painted background fading at the corners as though the two individuals were immersed in their own little world. I smiled.
Now I know why I cried when I saw this painting back at the museum.
This is the most unforgettable scene of my past life pulled out from my most cherished scenarios. I wholeheartedly recreated it through a painting, which is also the painting prior to my fated fall.
Another memory, huh.
The most important one.
Tomorrow, all four questions of mine will be answered with a final conclusion. The identities of the Musician and my murderer, the promise, and my reason to travel in time... They will all be answered.
“Miss Rosette?” an old, raspy voice sought for me at the doorway. “Must you really leave tomorrow?”
Tomorrow...might be my last day.
So today will be the day of goodbyes.
I looked over to Gertrude.
I had never been fond of farewells. My mother and my father were always busy with cramped schedules, thus the times spent with them were very rare. The moment they step out the threshold, I then hear that sickening phrase that they repeat on and on despite not truly meaning it.
YOU ARE READING
Slowly and Painfully ー ✓
Fanfiction[COMPLETE] ❝Seven princes stood before me. But which of them is the one I seek?❞ Briar Rosette, a curious girl of the 21st century, was somehow captivated by one of History's greatest mysteries. It was the tale between the Painter and the Musician...
