It was his way of remembering them, all of them. But he never showed anyone.
Having just finished sharing tea in the library, the two of them sat together in silence. There was no need for conversation. Her presence was enough for him. Emmrich sat opposite Rook, sketching her in his journal as she read. With each stroke of his pencil, he attempted to capture her as she was, curled up on the couch with her book, at ease and unburdened. A rare moment of calm. She didn't seem to notice.
Drawing was always a hobby of his, and although Emmrich hadn't considered himself to be a great artist, he did possess some skill for the craft, his medical studies of anatomy necessitating it. And so, he would often sketch the various things that he encountered on his adventure: vibrant flowers that he had come across, strange creatures not seen outside of Nevarra, but mostly, his drawings consisted of his companions, especially Rook.
For some reason, he was quite shy to share his talent, instead pretending that he was merely taking notes when asked as to what he was always doing in that book of his. In truth, his drawings were intended to help etch their features into his mind so that he would never forget. Emmrich thought that if he kept drawing and drawing and drawing, memorizing the contours of their noses, the shape of their eyes, their smiles and their laughter, then perhaps he could carry them all with him into lichdom and beyond.
He continued to sketch, only the sounds of pencil scratch and the occasional turning of a page filling the air, until suddenly—
"Errroook!" Manfred croaked from behind his shoulder, pointing wildly at the journal in his hands and then at Rook. She looked up at them, startled.
Immediately, Emmrich dropped his pencil and slammed the journal shut, mortified. "Errrroook!" Manfred gurgled again, his bony finger still darting between Rook and the now-closed journal on Emmrich's lap.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, her face breaking into a wide grin. "It sounded like he's starting to learn how to say my name! He'll be saying full-on sentences soon enough."
Emmrich turned beet red. "I think that Manfred was attempting to say, 'Book,' my dear," he replied quickly, holding up the journal.
"Sure he did. He pointed at me. Or maybe you're right. He was pointing at that too, I suppose."
He cleared his throat. "Indeed."
Decades later, Emmrich found himself poring over the contents of his old journal, flipping through pages and pages of scribbles and diary entries. He was slightly embarrassed at just how many drawings of Rook he found, but they were among some of the only images that he had left of her now. His eyes settled on the unfinished sketch from that day, and there she was, sitting there with her book, only a few light pencil marks forming the shape of her face. Why did he stop? Why did he feel so afraid to show her? She probably would've loved to see it. He resolved to finish it from memory later.
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
