» / Prose/ Horror/ Portion of a Portrait/ Black and White/
| Books had always been Victoria’s friends in life, providing her with a way to escape into other worlds while expanding her knowledge beyond the confines of her home. Books were in essence, tools that she employed all her life with either the finesse of a trained master or even club when at war in the courtroom.
She vividly recalled her days in court while training to become a lawyer, recalling how proud her parents had been of her accomplishments in their chosen path. It bought a small tear to her eye as she recalled her graduation, the pride she felt at having been able to overcome the many obstacles put before her and come through seemingly unscathed. Yet this was only a memory, one of many on her parents. No new memories would ever be made again, leaving her to wonder if they would eventually fade as all memories did in time. Would she eventually mend the emotional scars created by their death and to accept things as they had been dealt her or would she instead carry this burden forward like some dead weight forever holding her back, preventing from being her true self? Who was she really? A question asked with which Victoria could not in any tangible way understand or even define. Could she describe whom her parents or even her own character had been any point in her life? These were answers only came with more questions and never did they offer any real insight. Better still, who exactly was Evelyn? Victoria was worried that being unable to fit Evelyn into a mould would mean that she did not fully comprehend her characters role in life. On the rare occasion that she was allowed to read a novel, the author would often come across characters, which fit clear and precise archetypes. The hero, the macho, and the waif, were people who fit into clearly defined parameters reminding her of the stringent rules and concepts originating from the characters of those who played Dungeon and Dragons at school. In addition her books in science and law often worked on a principle a world that existed as black and white or good and evil, leaving one with no margins for error. How could this be expected for the essence of a man or woman? When it came to her soul, could such a level of precision be considered reasonable? Perhaps there were shades of grey and blotched of bright colour on the pages taken from the book of Evelyn? None of her books, no matter how recent or thick would be able to help her find and answer. However, perhaps a few could shed light on her character and even perhaps her way of life. History was a subject that often covered the lives of the past, their personalities, the flaws and their impact they had on the earth. Yet, these were all tainted in some form or another, it was the victor who often portrayed history and it often proved difficult to case your prejudices aside when investigating the life of a known tyrant for your people. While Victoria was unsure as to their ability to provide her with the answers that plague many of us and an author was sure that those very same writings could be used to lift the events, people, states and cities of old from their prison of words and be set free within her mind. Imagination after all would require information to sew the seed of creativity. * * * * Hours passed as she studied the contents of her books, leaving Victoria bewildered by the flow on information. Her goals had been no closer to completion then they had been before she had begun her search, finding that her queries the superfluous details of a world forgotten by all but historians or perhaps Methuselah. Yet something was missing. How could details be missing from such great bodies of texts? Victoria could now recall and recite secrets that existed within the depths of Versailles palace and even talk about the intrigues of the court or even engineering that had gone into the aqueduct system under the grounds. Yet Evelyn was as illusive now as she had always been and these details while enlightening did little to explain the duress endured by her character during that era. Books tended to be tainted by the view of their authors. For that reason, it dawned on her that a woman such as Evelyn would have been of little importance to the research of historians or even writers of romance novels. In fact, the life of a courtesan and the brothel, which she was employed/inhabited, was one story that many would sooner wish to forget, forever closing that chapter in human history. Perhaps that was the fear tucked away in the corner of her characters mind. Victoria could imagine that someone consumed by the need for creating arts of works marvelled by anyone who looked upon them might do so as a way to bury their dark pasts. Art was her characters way to carry forth a legacy that would stand the test of time and move people in ways that books could not. Victoria slowly began to understand that perhaps the knowledge to her character would not be found within the pages of these great tomes. These pages and stories were far to clean and structured for someone who probably existed as nothing more then a footnote of history. Condemned to be nothing more a multicoloured splotch of ink accidentally spilt on the corner page of some manuscript. No, Victoria decided, books would be of no use at all to her. Events such as wars and the succession of kings or clergy were not the reason that this woman had embraced the arts and her way of life… So what had been the catalyst to all of this? “Only through the creation of art, will you truly be able to understand me.” Victoria said aloud, pondering how that statement was related to her. While the statement ran true within her hear, it was not necessarily easy for a woman of her background to comprehend or even grasp the finer concepts of art. This was no simple matter of visiting a local supermarket, loading her cart full of supplies and finding a studio to create works of sheer beauty out of nothing! An image of Evelyn moving about some gigantic store with a cart, stopping every so often as she saw something of interest and glowing with glee as she noticed canvases on sale made the came to the forefront of her mind and made Victoria giggle. That entire idea was a farce, especially when she envisioned this same woman arriving at the till, slipping a few coupons on natural brushes and asking if she could still get last claim last weeks discount on easels and if certain tone of paint available “Evelyn wearing some gown from the latest Parisian haut fashion too.” Victoria said with a sigh of relief, as this is bit of comedic relief lightening the weight upon her shoulders considerably. For now at least, it had provided this author with a direction with which to proceed, that was more then she had previously. Now she a starting point from her alpha to her omega. Moving away from the hazardous piles of books stacked in every which way to the front of her desk, Victoria sat in front of her typewriter. Placing a virgin sheet of paper within the grips of the machine, she looked ahead, pausing a few moments, knowing that sooner or later the inspiration would come to her. |
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