“You sure you need to do this?” The woman asked Belvadeu.
“If you want your memory to live on permanently, yes.” Belvadeu put the blade to her hand and pressed lightly. A thin line of blood rose to the surface. He turned her hand so the beautiful fluid dripped into all of his colors. He already pre-tinted them, so the color of paints wouldn’t change.
“I think my family will love it. How long will this take?” The woman asked, squeezing the last drops into the last cup.
“A few hours. I have some birds outside the window, or look at the sea. It’ll be over before you know it.” Belvadeu set her up on the chair, moved her to the position he wanted, and moved to his easel. With some of the blood he collected from her hand, he painted a circle with some symbols in it. The blood dried quickly. Once the circle was set, he began to paint.
“Ow.” The woman put her hand up to her head but put it back down. Belvadeu had just finished the outline of her head. He continued his work. They all reacted this way. It wasn’t his fault siphoning off the soul hurt a bit. At least he won’t take all of it. Only a tiny piece. He wonders what part of her will be trapped in his canvas forever.
“Don’t worry ma’am. Just look out the window and the waves will soothe the mind.” He continued to paint. The wind-chime outside began to ring. The spell was working. He just needed to finish up quickly before the euphoria wore off. Belvadeu finished her face and began working on her body. He loved painting the heart. It always brought the whole thing together.
He finished the painting just as the chime stopped ringing. Another masterpiece finished. “Just need to let this dry, I’ll have my servant drop it off tomorrow. Anything special for the frame?”
“Just a normal wooden one please. Dark finish. Thank you.” The woman got up, moved her hand over her stomach, but left his studio. It’ll pass. The side affects always do after a couple of days. And once that painting is in your house. The real fun begins.
Just last week, a man who bought a painting from him committed suicide. Poor thing. He didn’t know what he was doing. His mind wasn’t all there. The painting had replaced him, you see? He came home one night to find a man who looked exactly like him sitting and eating with his family. It drove him insane. A couple of days later, his wife noticed something odd about the painting, and the copy went into a rage. Killed all of them and melted away. The actual husband was found a few days after in the river. Everyone figured he killed them then himself. It was the scandal of the decade.
Belvadeu wanted to see what a woman could do.