By the time Vaughn had been all but chased out of the estate, Violet finally had some time for herself after a long while.

Sitting alone, she thought deeply.

About her conversations with Aileen and Vaughn. About the circumstances that had once surrounded her. Even about the emotions she had when she first started painting, and why she had picked up the brush in the first place.

One task had been completed, and now it was time to move on to the next.

She envisioned her future as a painter—what she wanted to do, and what she hoped to achieve in this new chapter of her life, so different from before.

Whenever she thought of the future, a certain face would always follow.

When the image of him suddenly surfaced, Violet was startled and glanced around, as if to check if anyone else was there.

‘Why am I thinking of Sir Aldin here…’

She had to sort things out in order, but her mind wasn’t cooperating. Violet forced herself to focus again on her life as a painter and on her art.

The negative emotions that had driven her to pick up the brush in the first place hadn’t entirely disappeared. They still lurked beneath the surface, waiting to drag her down.

The helplessness that nothing would ever change, the despair of being forced to live as a villain for the rest of her life, the anger that had driven her to embrace the role just to meet those expectations—even if it meant becoming the villain they wanted her to be.

The fear that she might step wrong and fall back into the abyss, and yet the hope that things might turn out better this time.

Violet slowly made her way to the gallery where her paintings were displayed, where the exhibition would soon take place.

The paintings, scattered across the walls, seemed to embody human ‘melancholy’.

She understood the emotions she had felt while painting them. But now, she no longer resonated with those feelings.

And so, she knew she could never paint something like this again.

No, even if she could, she wouldn’t.

This was a promise she made to herself. Even if she fell into the depths again, she wouldn’t merely flounder. Even if a day came when she suffered through another slump, she wouldn’t drown in sorrow.

Viewing her paintings from a distance gave her a special feeling.

The rough brushstrokes, the haphazard strokes with no real technique behind them, just the marks of a brush wielded without care. The paintings gradually grew more refined, more precise, yet traces of hesitation still lingered in the strokes.

These paintings were a record of Violet’s life.

* * *

Just as she was starting to define her relationship with her art and her future, another task arose.

But it wasn’t something that could be resolved immediately.

Despite her newfound clarity, there was so much to be done in preparation for the exhibition. Truthfully, she wanted to delegate the work to someone else or handle it half-heartedly, but Violet decided to take it step by step.

‘I miss him…’

Violet muttered to herself as she thought of Aldin.

If it weren’t for that trial, the response wouldn’t have been delayed this long.

Even as she tried to focus on her tasks, Violet found herself bowing her head, overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts.

Should she call him? If it were Aldin, he would surely come. Even with war on the horizon and his duties as a knight of the imperial guard would hold him back, she knew he would come.

But knowing this was precisely why she couldn’t call him.

Are you thinking of me too? Have I disappointed you? Has the delay in my response caused you to feel the same frustration? Am I unable to say anything because I’m too late?

Are we of the same mind?

Pushing aside the relentless wave of thoughts, Violet forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand.

As Violet prepared for her exhibition, the public’s criticism of her continued unabated.

They called her vulgar for behaving like an artist instead of a noblewoman. People were on the brink of dying because of the war, yet here she was, a noblewoman of the highest rank, leisurely preparing for an art exhibition.

The disdain aimed at her came from all levels of society, each with their own reasons. But Violet cleanly ignored it all.

She already had enough to deal with—taking care of the matters at hand and worrying about the people she truly cared about. Why should she bother matching the rhythm of people who only wanted to see her falter?

What they truly wanted was to see Violet stumble, so there was no reason to give them the satisfaction.

In any case, the exhibition was planned to be small in scale. As they said, how many people would even come to view paintings during such uncertain times?

Contrary to Violet’s expectations, however, the invitations to her exhibition were being traded at a high price in secret.

The more criticism one receives, the more attention one attracts.

Fueled by that attention, many sought to obtain an invitation. Yet, despite their interest, the invitations were in extremely limited supply.

It was never meant to be a large gathering, not a grand ball or a tea party. Just because a family was prestigious or familiar with her own didn’t mean they would automatically receive an invitation.

Even the handful of invitations sent for the first day were so few that it was unclear who had received them.

Meanwhile, unaware of the brewing situation, Violet stood alone, gazing at her gallery, which had yet to open.

She felt a swell of nervousness, though she didn’t understand why.

Soon, Violet took in her paintings and the entire view of the exhibition hall.

“Seriously…”

The building, which Roen had spared no expense in constructing just for Violet’s exhibition, was a work of art in itself. It could have just as easily hosted a grand event, not just a simple exhibition.

Without realizing it, a smile crept onto Violet’s face, though she quickly composed herself again. Then she began examining every detail of the exhibition hall.

The building had been designed and constructed with care by an architect who poured his heart into the project.

The marble floors gleamed, and the walls were adorned with framed paintings. The paintings themselves were peculiar and somewhat unconventional.

“……”

As Violet walked slowly through the empty corridors, her eyes wandered over the space.

The sound of her heels echoed on the marble floor.

The building was far too large for a small exhibition, with much of it still left empty.

Will I ever be able to fill this gallery entirely with my paintings? …What will I be like then? Will you still be by my side?

Lost in her thoughts as she wandered, a silhouette appeared in the distance.