-open starter Galerie de Désir, the Dominion; afternoon
Among the many paintings that could be found in the Galerie de Désir, one of them had a peculiar way of drawing the eye, birthing rumors with every glance.
A moonlit balcony stretched across the canvas, silver light spilling over marble balustrades and through the open glass doors behind them. Intricate shapes of dark stone and cold iron adorned every surface. Beyond lay a lavish chamber frozen in another century: a neatly made bed with an ebony wood frame, a writing desk littered with yellowed papers, shelves crowded with dripping candles that had been burning endlessly and books whose titles had long since faded from memory.
And standing at the center of it all was the man himself. Nestor. Or so the small plaque beneath the gilded frame claimed.
Dressed in dark brocades and impossibly composed, he leaned against the balcony railing as though he had been standing there for years. His expression carried the sort of quiet melancholy that artists loved to immortalize, the kind that made strangers wonder what tragedy lurked behind a handsome face. Most visitors passed by after a glance; some lingered. The latter were rewarded.
At first, it was easy to dismiss it as a trick of light: a subtle shift of posture, the slightest tilt of his head. Then, a slow blink and the rise and fall of his chest as he took an empty breath.
Nestor’s gaze settled upon whoever stood before the painting, and for a moment, neither moved. The corner of his mouth curved upward, something close to a smile that invited conversation. Or perhaps temptation.
