Former place of work, Yggdrasil echoes with a nod, then scrutinizing the portrait. The woman bears herself regally, her extravagant dress and her place on the throne making it all the more apparent. Neither the older nor younger man flanking her show familial resemblance.Â
Yggdrasil cants her head and looks the man beside up and down, assessing. Strong constitution, no visible weapons. But she thinks that he is poised for something. You worked for royalty? she inflects in question. What sort of work did you do? A pause. Her smile grows sheepish. If it is unpleasant to recall, you need not answer.
As her eyes steadily comb through the portrait again, she chuckles like wind-chimes, Whether or not it is worthy is not for you alone to judge⌠even though you are likely more knowledgeable than anyone else in this city when it comes to this.Â
To the primal, itâs just a portrait. Pigments organized on a canvas, like many other works hung on this wall. Different from the storybook in her skirt, from sculptures, from film. She canât begin to wonder at the museum curatorâs choices, unversed in art as she is. Her brow furrows for an instant, before smoothing into her usual genial look. Then: What makes the others worthy?
âIn a manner. You could say I worked for the state, which requires I work for royalty.â He mused whether he could -- or should -- continue with his answer, but in the end decided it didnât matter one way or the other. Van Helsing lightly sighed.
âI was in the military, although I was part of an elite group within the military.â He pointed at the young boy in the portrait.  âThat is Finis; despite appearing young, he was in charge of Twilight. He and Queen Victoria,â he shifted his focus to the woman in the center of the portrait, âdid many terrible things; things I couldnât agree with anymore. So I left shortly after they crowned me a war hero.â He winced at the thought.
âThe portrait doesnât hold many good memories, for me and for thousands of people they harmed. But theyâre not here. As far as Iâm concerned, this place is safer than home.â He finally folded his arms and shrugged.  âAs far as portraits go, itâs very accurate. But I donât believe it has much artistic merit, I guess.â
When she posed her next question, he became quite contemplative. Perhaps she was right, and others who came here to see artwork from their own home would feel the same as him.  âI donât think any of us get to decide whatâs worthy and what isnât. Itâs the same back home; the curator decides what should be shown to the public.â Van Helsing tilted his head as he looked at the painting next to the portrait; it was quite different in subject matter, but he wondered if it held the same painful memories to someone else trapped here.
âMaybe weâre looking for reason where there is none. Maybe the curator just picks things they like.â