Lost Form of Art

Arthur of the royal Queen Lamire’s guard, pulled the dagger from the old man's chest, dripping blood. It hit the floor with a thud as his hands trembled. It was his first time taking a man's life. But this wasn’t any ordinary man.

Vego Vespucci was the world's most well-known painter, and masses came to see his work. He traveled from the nearby village to share his enthusiasm for painting. In his paintings of buildings and landscapes, he primarily used vivid and violet colors. Now, his body was drained of color, leaving it chilly and limp. Oh, if the people discovered he had been slain by the Queen's royal guard, there would undoubtedly be an uprising.

Arthur detested himself for the merciless killing of a man he himself admired, but he had no choice. He did it because the Queen had given him the command, not because he was envious or angry with the painter.

Without Her Majesty's awareness, no art, and especially painters, dared to represent the establishment of an unjustified monarchy or to invent new ideas.

Yet, Arthur would spend his evenings writing poetry while sitting by a candle. He fantasized of distant places and even imagined what Vego Vespucci's idea of his future home may entail. Why was this any different? His verses or the artwork of Vespucci? Freedom of expression, was that not the case?

Naturally, he cast a downward glance. It felt heavy, the blood on his hands. A feeling of dread washed over him.

He knew Queen Lamire would be curious with how his mission went and she would want an immediate report on the status of Vego Vespucci. You see the Queen detested art with all of her being. Not even the world's best colors could be applied to any canvas without her explicit permission. So, it was of the utmost importance he alone do the job. After all, he was her royal guard first and foremost.

He crossed the body gingerly and headed for the sink. Even if he was a murderer now, he was still human. He cleaned his bloody dagger and hands.

“An uprising…huh?” Arthur thought to himself.

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