Wherever that may be

Arc III (1) - 1720

"Hello?", Elizabeth tries, still surprised.

"Hello. Do you always take such long time to open the door?"

The girl narrows her eyes.

"Anyways, listen, I have a job for you".

Elizabeth takes in the male staring at her once again. A high-quality hanbok hugs his tall figure tightly. He is completely shaved, and has a stern, almost aggressive look in his face. She imagines that women other than herself would find him fairly attractive. He balances his weight from one leg to the other, almost as if he couldn't stand two seconds of silence.

The painter knows right away that she's talking to an upper-class man, which means, well, money.

She's willing to listen.

"What kind of job, Sir?"

He looks at her with an irritated expression.

"A painting", he explains in a tone that it would have been enough for anybody else to be kicked out of Elizabeth's house in a whim.

She tries to remain neutral.

"Indeed, Sir, but what kind of painting?"

"A portrait of my wife", he says, the words rushing out of his mouth, "I forgot our first anniversary, and well, you know women... I imagine", he sets his gaze on Elizabeth almost as if deciding, and then continues, "So I need a gift. Something grand. She told me she likes your works, once... I think. Well, if it's not you, you'll be the next best thing I guess".

Elizabeth feels the urge of slapping the man out of his balance and of laughing out loud at the same time. A complete disaster.

Her grandmother couldn't have been more wrong.

"Well, I can do that, for sure", she tries, "even if I'm just the best next thing".

The man merely nods, content of things going his way yet again.

"How long would it take you to finish a portrait?"

"How big?"

The man scoffs.

"I don't know, as big as it gets. As big as she'd like. I don't care, really. It's just a painting".

Elizabeth imagines red flags flashing across her mind. She also feels how light her pockets feel.

"One month is the usual".

"One month?! It better be a great painting".

"Have no doubts that it will be, Sir".

Elizabeth does have a few doubts.

"Good. I'll pay you as soon as you finish".

Fair, Elizabeth thinks.

"Should we discuss the price?"

"No. I don't care. I just want to stop eating burnt chicken at noon. Here", he extends a well-folded piece of paper to Elizabeth, "this is my house's address. I need to go now. I should've been gone for... half an hour now. Damn it. I will be waiting for you tomorrow at eight in the morning. Don't be late".

With that, he opens Elizabeth's front door on his own and rushes towards the streets.

The painter is left with the piece of paper in between her fingers, her left hand curled in a fist, and the feeling that she definitely does not need love.

-

Nemamiah sits with her knees against her chest and her head hanging low.

She waits eternally between shadows, the bitter feeling blooming inside of her chest only spreading with greater strength.