Portrait of a Swallow

Indigo

A/N: Hello readers! I was able to get a head start on this chapter and thus able to upload tonight. I'm quite new to full plot, so dialogue and such aren't my strong suit, so do tell me what your thoughts are, as I would love to hear them. This time for real, I won't update as quickly because I haven't written in advance. I'm going to go collapse on my bed now ! Stay safe everyone !

She jumped slightly, startled by the man's sudden vocal intrusion. Before she could turn to face him, she took a deep breath so as to prepare herself to meet elusive painter. Tall, oh so tall, she thought, and sinewy, his form was already a commanding presence, but as she looked up to meet his gaze, she observed his features: an angular face with slightly pouty lips, his eyes inquisitive though didn't hold any malice, his hair slightly long, wisps falling about his face. He was dressed in long pants and an overcoat, which displayed the broad range of his chest, his shirt white with a collar that climbed his neck, riding boots covered in mud.

"I - I'm the new maid, Yoon Seri, sir, I apologize but I was given instructions to clean the studio when you weren't here," she began.

He gazed upon her, his eyes boring into hers as he attempted to assess the words that spilled out of her mouth, taking time to admire the way her doe shaped eyes fluttered nervously, the way her luscious lips slightly trembled when she spoke. Her seemingly long tresses were tied in a simple low bun, accentuating the soft features of her face, the light in the corridor highlighting the smooth contours of her cheekbones, the rosy tinge that was threatening to spill upon her face blooming across her face.

She continued, unable to stop the words from spilling out of her mouth, her mind completely numb from the sudden appearance by the artist.
"You see Sang ah told me to clean the house, and seeing as you weren't here, I took the liberty to clean everything, even your studio. I wasn't expecting you back so soon, you know." She was gripping the broom in her hands tightly, fidgeting with the wooden dowel that was now at her mercy.

He continued to stare, setting his gaze on her as if she was a piece of art, his eyes scouring her features, every micro expression, every breath. It was a different scrutiny than when Sang ah watched her, there was a certain kindness in his eyes, a tenderness she hadn't seen in a long time. When he didn't say anything, she looked straight behind him and noticed the tracking of mud he brought in, her newly cleaned floors completely ruined. Still uncomfortable with the silence between them, she then remarked

"Ah look the floors are now ruined, the mud on your shoes must have brought it in, I should start to clean it up" before realizing what she had said must have been deemed as rude.

But it was he who became flustered, staring at his boots and huffing slightly, lifting them up to see the soles and traces of mud left behind. He seemed nervous, she thought, the stoic painter transformed into a boy caught red handed, the tips of his ears betraying his embarrassment, the blush pouring down into his neck.

She's quick to catch it, though, and without giving much thought she laughs, a teasing glint evident in her pupils, her eyes curling up into crescents, her laugh the most melodious sound he's heard. Before he knows it a ghost of a smile flickers across his face, the slight upturn of his lips an uncommon sight. But he's quick to catch himself and tries to hide the emotion on his face, looking down and pursing his pouty lips slightly, as if weighing whether her admission was valid before nodding slightly, the layers in his hair bouncing slightly, and saying

"I see, I apologize you may go now, thank you."

Bowing quickly to dismiss herself, she hurriedly flees from his being, and as she does, he admires the slight sway in her hips, the outline of her modest figure through the muslin dress, the nape of her neck long and lean. He shakes the thought from his mind, and closes the door of his studio behind him,