#the muse family; mciid's verse

[faelodis]

@mciid | prev

Sometimes she wondered if things would have ended differently if she had stayed here with her parents instead of going abroad to study. Never had she expected to come back to all of this. Viola looked up at the man in front of her. For a moment, she wants to ask him something, but at the end, she decides against it. ( The past had, most likely, been forgotten by him anyway and she was not one to bring up anything of no use. ) Instead, she gently shakes her head. " There is nothing I want to say, Sir. " Her gaze wanders from him to the painting behind him, then back to him. Viola then lowered her gaze and took a deep breath in. " Actually, there is something I wanted to ask, if you allow me to, of course. " After all, she was here to find out what happened to her parents and perhaps, the other knew something. Even just the smallest hint could help her. So she would wait until he would allow it, keeping her gaze to the ground. Viola had listened to the way other maids had talked about D.M. and how they had called him a nice and kind Earl, yet she was not going to test his patience and instantly approach him with rudeness. Not when her intentions were to stay as long here as she could to find out what had happened to her parents.

His pupils narrowed as he watched the maid. He had the sense she was lying. A lot of staff did initially. It was why D.M. made portraits of his staff as "gifts".

It was much more difficult to lie under a faerie curse.

But, she didn't seem to want to talk. It wasn't urgent, so D.M. saw no reason to try and make her. His eyes slid to partly closed, and he was about to turn and continue on when he noticed her look. D.M. looked back to the painting as well.

The Muse, the authentic one he'd bought and possibly had copied for his own plans of entertainment. A beautiful, if cryptic, painting. A shame he couldn't find all of the series.

And then the maid spoke.

D.M. looked back toward her with just a hint of irritation in his eyes. And far more than a hint of it in his tone as he nearly gritted his teeth. "Think of your words before you say them, miss. There's little I despise more than being lied to."

But then he took a breath, and that irritation evaporated. The count relaxed his shoulders, shifting his weight to his good leg and cane. "You're welcome to ask," he began, voice as calm and velvety as usual. "I rarely mind answering questions.

"Is it about the painting on the wall?" He gave a quiet hum of a laugh and smiled. "Just know I might not have the answers."