Chapter 28
Phaedra crossed the ballroom, her steps clicking on the marble floor, the light of her candle glinting off the dangling crystals of the chandeliers high above her head.
She had awoken even before the first light of dawn could break over the horizon, her mind immediately filled with the memories of the night before.
And although her body felt refreshed, as if after many restless nights she had finally slept soundly, she could not help the sense of unease for the threshold she had crossed.
Because even if it had only happened in the confines of her mind, the knowledge that his name had been on her lips as she had found her release filled her with a mixture of twisting emotions she could not separate.
She knew she needed to work, to focus her mind on what had to be done, and forget everything else until she did it, because this—whatever this was—was not why she was here.
She placed the candle and her sketchbook on the work table, then sifted through the supplies she would need for the day. The smell of the wax wafted from its package as she peeled it open, pulling her thoughts to firmer ground.
She propped a new panel against the legs of the easel, then straightened to remove the finished painting from its ledge.
But only when the sky began to brighten, the first rays of feeble sunlight displacing the amber glow of the candle glimmering on the wonder standing before her, did she realize she had not moved, but rather stood frozen, the beauty of this mixture of paint and fabric holding her in thrall.
It was almost impossible to breathe, the sight so exquisite it seemed to cut through to her very soul, condensing her existence to this one purpose—to behold.
And as she lifted her hand, her fingers brushing across the soft folds of green, the transcendence of their color like a spell cast upon the world, she knew.
This. This was why she was here.