* * *

For the next three days after the art materials had arrived, Violet just slept some more. Now, however, she finally stood in front of a canvas for the first time.

Mary was at a loss when she watched Violet set up the easel and put on the canvas herself.

She insisted that, whilst painting, she wanted to do everything herself.

When Violet had suddenly changed, it’s thanks to this that Mary was required to do only half her job but got paid in full, and she happily gave up on more work while just staying by the ducal lady’s side.

Since the materials and tools were expensive, the paint was applied smoothly upon the canvas.

However, that was all.

Even if she was a painter in her previous life, she was Violet now in this current life, and her skills did not carry over in this body. Violet had learned a little during her culture classes, but they were only brief lessons.

Without a sketch, Violet used a brush to apply gesso on the canvas, but she suddenly laughed. Mary did not say anything and just watched.

Shhk, shhhhk.

As the wide and large brush traveled smoothly on the canvas, the paint that’s on the brush was subsequently spread on this surface.

In Mary’s eyes, rather than doing a painting, it’s as if Violet was wielding the brush.

The paint splattered around. Violet did not care.

Two different hues were mixed and smoothed down on the canvas. As her hand was clumsy, these colors did not blend well.

Nevertheless, Violet’s hand did not stop.

Blue. Purple. Red. Green. All these colors filled the canvas.

Rather than painting a picture, it would be more apt to say that she was expressing her emotions.

Don’t people say that painting could be considered therapeutic? What do people think as they paint? If emotions could take on a physical form, would they look like what’s painted on the canvas?

Violet thought constantly as she brandished her paintbrush.

As her deep-seated anger surfaced, it materialized through the form of color, and it was covered, stained, smeared by various other colors.

Violet continued to laugh.

And as though to portray the state of her mind right now, melancholy hues covered the canvas entirely.

Oh, how satisfying it was to express all these pent-up emotions!

As she had painted for an hour, the end result of it all was bizarre.

Mary admired the bizarre work of art.

“Wow…”

It was nothing but a canvas filled with color, with traces of brush strokes still left intact—nothing but depressing, gloomy shades of dark blue that evoked pent-up anger. However…

Was it because Violet’s attitude towards painting was serious? The piece standing before them now seemed to reveal the painter’s feelings.

“Good grief, what a mess.”

“H-How did you do that, Milady?”

“Huh? I just did it though?”

“Wow, wooow!”

As the innocent Mary’s reaction made Violet feel somewhat embarrassed, she took a step back. A lot of paint splotches were left on her arms and clothes. She thought fleetingly that she’s glad her clothes were cheap.

She’d have to ask for a smock and some arm warmers. No, rather, perhaps she should just ask for work clothes, the same as what the employees wore.

Thinking about this and that, Violet stretched out.

“I’m quite famished. Shall we go and eat?”

“M-Milady…!”

“What?”

“You have to wash up first!”

“Ah…”

It’s less than before, but Mary was still afraid of Violet. She still went ahead to say everything she had to say though.

With a frown on her face, Violet looked down at the paint on her arms. She was thinking that she just needed to wash her hands.

Mary scrambled to her feet, then went out to draw a bath. Violet had no choice but to follow after the maid. There weren’t any bath attendants here, so how long would it take to finish this?

As Violet was washing up, she dissuaded Mary from cleaning up the studio. Then, by the time she was finished with her bath, it was already time for the sun to disappear down the horizon little by little.

When the ducal lady expressed her willingness to eat—for the first time, of her own volition—the people in the kitchen were thrown into a flurry.

They were worried that she would, yet again, find fault in the employees’ work.

However, all Violet did was eat quietly and gracefully. And after that, she went back to her room.

Now, Mary thought that the lady was different from the rumors that were floating around about her.

So, today once more, Mary endeavored not to be a salary thief—she followed Violet in a hurry.

Meanwhile, Violet thought that she would need to rehabilitate her craft. Her hands were too stiff, and she couldn’t even paint properly. At this, she clicked her tongue.

Technically speaking, it wouldn’t be right to say that she’d ‘rehabilitate’ her craft since this was a different life.

How much time would it take her to catch up to at least the skills she had in her previous life?

Violet picked up a sketchbook and pencil, then headed towards her room.

With nothing of her master’s to hold, Mary seemed very much like a salary thief. It was because of this that she looked like she was about to cry all on her own.