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Blake loved her studio. It was one half of the top floor of a building on the edge of Vale, and it was divided into two rooms: the main studio, which was open except for the columns supporting the roof, and a storeroom for her supplies. One wall of the larger room had floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the lake toward Beacon Cliff. Blake found it so agreeable that even on days that she had no intention of painting, she’d prefer to be here rather than in her cramped apartment.She hadn’t painted in a couple of weeks, but for the past few days she’d been feeling the familiar urge to create again. Last night she had made a few rough sketches, and she had spent the morning cutting to size enough wooden stretcher bars to build several canvases. Unlike some painters, Blake enjoyed the task of assembling and preparing her own canvases. To her, the creative process began with deciding on the shapes and sizes of her works-to-be, and building the canvases with her own hands gave her a visceral connection with them that she never felt when she used store-bought ones.At the moment, she was stretching canvas across a frame that was larger in both dimensions than she was tall. It was difficult to prep a canvas this size, but the series of paintings she was planning needed scale – they would never have the impact she intended if they were small. She sang softly to a tune on the radio as she concentrated on keeping the fabric taut while she carefully worked her way around the edges with her staple gun.The music stopped suddenly, and Blake looked up in confusion. A young woman with long white hair and eyes the color of the winter sky stood beside the door with her hand on the volume dial of the radio.“You have a lovely voice,” she said dryly. “It would be nice if I heard it more often.”“Hi, Weiss,” said Blake. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”“Nor did you hear me text you or call you, apparently,” said Weiss, pointing to Blake’s scroll on the table and rolling her eyes.Blake grinned good-naturedly. “No, I guess I didn’t.” She finished the last few staples, then carefully misted the stretched canvas with water to tighten it on the wooden frame.Weiss walked over to the work table as Blake put down her spray bottle.“That’s a large canvas,” Weiss said, her eyebrows raised.“I’ve got an idea for a new series in my head,” Blake said. “They’re all going to be big.”Weiss looked at her. “A series, hmm? That means a show, right? Finally?”Blake winced. “When the series is done – yes, a show,” she said. “Maybe.”Weiss frowned. “Blake, your first and last show was four years ago. It was wildly successful, and every art critic in Remnant was talking about you for months. Since then, nothing – you have a storeroom full of paintings that you won’t let me show, much less sell.”“I don’t do this to make money, Weiss,” Blake said.“But I do, Blake,” Weiss said crossly. “I’m an art dealer. I don’t make money unless I sell art. And if I don’t make money, I don’t eat. Speaking of which,” Weiss said, looking pointedly at Blake’s thin frame, “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”Blake started to protest, but Weiss cut her off.“Never mind. Just come for dinner tonight. I’ll feed you, and you can tell me about this new series you’re planning.”Blake nodded. “Okay, I will,” she said. “Thanks, Weiss.”“Good. I’ll have dinner ready around 6,” the other woman said, turning to leave. “See you then!”Weiss was a good soul, Blake thought. They’d been thrown together as roommates in art school, and despite their wildly differing personalities, dispositions, and backgrounds, they had become friends. After graduation, they’d helped one another break into the art scene in Vale, with Blake creating a number of paintings for Weiss to display in the little gallery she’d rented on the edge of the art district. Blake’s work had been well received, and about a year later, Weiss had organized a show just for Blake’s paintings. As Weiss had predicted, it had been very successful and had brought brought her critical acclaim as well as enough lien to live on for quite a while. Since then, Blake had continued painting, but despite Weiss’s frequent pleas, she had yet to agree to another show.Blake glanced at the clock on her scroll as she turned up the volume on the radio. She had time to finish another canvas or two before she had to head home to change for dinner.A real meal — and some company — would be nice.
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The cab driver had been a Faunus, and he had apparently assumed that meant that Blake would want to go clubbing with him and his friends later that evening. (“We Faunus gotta stick together!” he’d said, as though that would convince her.) She’d been glad that the ride to Weiss’s house had been a short one, and she resolved to walk home rather than risk him showing up if she called for a cab after dinner.She rang the doorbell, and Weiss opened the door almost immediately.“Come in, I’ve got to take the salmon out of the oven in a second,” she said as she raced back to the kitchen.Blake grinned as she stepped into Weiss’s impeccably decorated townhouse. As the evenings were beginning to get cool as the end of summer approached, Blake had brought a jacket, which she hung on a peg by the door. Then she followed Weiss to the kitchen.“What can I do to help?” she asked.“You can pour the wine so it has a chance to breathe before we eat,” Weiss said, peering into the oven.Blake managed to uncork the expensive-looking bottle of wine and pour a glass for her and for Weiss by the time Weiss brought dinner to the table.“Wow, Weiss, that looks amazing,” Blake said, her eyes widening.“Baked salmon with a raspberry ginger glaze,” Weiss said with a hint of pride in her voice. “The asparagus is fresh from the farmers’ market this morning.”Blake’s mouth was watering just looking at her plate. “You didn’t have to go to this much trouble for me,” she said softly.“First, it’s no trouble. You know I like to cook. And second, I know you think you can live on tea and toast, but that simply isn’t the case,” Weiss scolded, waving her fork at Blake.“I eat more than tea and toast,” Blake laughed.“Canned tuna is not a food,” Weiss scoffed. “You forget, we were roommates for three years. I … know … you, Blake Belladonna.”Blake laughed again. She loved Weiss dearly: she had been the first real friend she’d had since running away from home all those years ago. Weiss had been there for her in the darkest part of her life, and she’d helped Blake put the pieces of herself back together afterwards.They ate in silence for a while. Blake tried not to eat too quickly, but Weiss was a really good cook, and the salmon was the best she’d had — well, since the last time Weiss had made salmon for her. She looked up as she finished the last bite to see Weiss grinning at her.“I’m glad to see I haven’t lost my touch,” she said dryly.Blake laughed and took a sip of her wine.“So, tell me about this series of paintings you’re about to start,” Weiss said, picking up her own wine glass and leaning back in her chair.Blake hesitated a moment, suddenly uncomfortable. “Weiss, I know you’re anxious for me to have another show, and believe it or not, I am too. It’s just that I don’t feel like I want to show what I’ve painted recently.”Weiss’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her friend. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean. I’ve seen a lot of what you’ve done over the past four years, and I could sell any one of them — all of them, truth be told. You’re talented, Blake — really talented. A lot of art passes through my gallery, and your work is better than any of it.”Blake reddened. “That’s kind of you to say, but that’s not really what I meant.” She stared at her wine glass to avoid Weiss’s eyes. “Do you remember what that critic from Atlas said in his review? ‘Haunted’ was the word he used.”“ ‘Even the most mundane subjects — a flower, a fruit — are haunted by the darkness lurking at the edges of the frame. Her works are subtly unsettling, a feeling which increases as you regard each in turn and which lingers long after you leave the gallery.’ ” Weiss said without hesitation. “He bought several of your paintings after the show.”Blake’s ears flattened against the top of her head. “Weiss, I don’t want to create works that unsettle people. But he was right! I look at every painting I’ve done, and it’s always there: a sense of menace, of threat, of evil. I don’t want that to be what I’m known for — I don’t want that to be who I am!” She felt tears well up in her eyes and fought to keep control of herself.Suddenly, Weiss was kneeling beside her and taking Blake’s hands in her own.“Blake, I love you,” Weiss said softly. “You have been through hell. I was there for some of it — I know what Adam did to you. But he’s in your past now. He can’t hurt you any more.”Blake’s hands balled into fists. “But he can and he IS, Weiss — I haven’t seen him in almost five years, but it’s like I can’t escape from him. I have a storeroom full of paintings that prove that!”Weiss pulled Blake into her arms, and Blake didn’t resist. She usually didn’t like to be touched — another result of her relationship with Adam — but right now, Weiss’s embrace was the comfort she needed. Blake forced herself to stop crying after a few moments, and she sat up again.“I want to paint a fairy tale,” she said, a hint of defiance in her voice.Weiss looked at her evenly. “Okay,” she said. “Which one?”Blake felt her confidence falter. “I’m not sure yet. But the series is going to tell a story. And it’s going to have a happy ending. I want people to look at my work and know that there are such things as courage and honor and bravery and goodness. I want them to know that love exists.”Weiss looked at Blake for a long time before she finally said very softly, “You won’t be able to convince anyone of that unless you believe it yourself, dear Blake.”
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The last rays of the setting sun turned the few high clouds golden in the purple twilight. On her tiny balcony, Blake, her attention diverted by the simple beauty of the sunset and her sketchbook forgotten on the little table beside her, sat wrapped in a blanket against the evening chill. This was why she had become an artist and why she had chosen paint as her medium: it was the only way she knew how to capture the light that was all around her, to show others what her eyes saw. Nature is a miracle, Blake thought, and painting is a form of magic.A buzzing from the little table was her scroll. Blake picked it up to see a message from Weiss:
Weiss > Can I come over?
Of course, Blake responded.
Weiss > Good, because I’m downstairs.
Blake grinned and looked over the edge of the balcony. Sure enough, twenty feet below, Weiss’s white head was clearly visible in the rapidly fading light.“I’ll buzz you in,” Blake called down to her friend. She pressed the key code on her scroll that unlocked the entry door, then gathered up her sketchbook and blanket and went inside. She unlocked the door to her apartment as she passed it, and she threw the blanket back on her bed.A few moments later, Weiss walked in carrying a small box and a bottle of wine.“I thought we could watch a movie,” Weiss said by way of greeting. “I know you never have anything to drink except tea, so I brought something we both like,” she said, waving the wine bottle.Blake laughed. “What’s in the box, then?”“Cupcakes,” Weiss said. “I didn’t intend to buy them, but the wine shop was next to a bakery … and that’s how that went. The wine’s a dry red, so we’ll survive the combination, I think. Just don’t tell any of my friends.”Weiss disappeared into Blake’s bedroom to trade her business suit for one of Blake’s yukatas, while Blake set out two wine glasses and plates.A few minutes later, they had settled on opposite ends of Blake’s couch with Blake’s blanket over their legs.“So, what are we watching?” Blake asked, her mouth filled with half a cupcake.“I don’t care. Something mindless – I don’t want to have to try to follow a plot or anything,” Weiss said.“Rom com it is, then,” said Blake. She chose one at random and started it playing.“How’s the fairy tale series coming?” Weiss asked. “Started painting yet?”Blake shook her head. “The canvases are all prepped, but I’m still sketching out ideas.”“Which fairy tale did you pick?”“I’m making one up,” said Blake.Weiss gave her a skeptical look.“I’m thinking: lonely girl meets handsome boy, boy falls in love with said girl, they live happily ever after,” Blake said. “Or something.”Weiss laughed. “Sounds more like wish fulfillment to me. Don’t you dare kick me – I fed you cupcakes!” she said indignantly as she got up to refill their wine glasses.“Blake,” she said softly after she had settled back on the sofa, “are you lonely?”It was a moment before Blake replied. “Do you believe in destiny, Weiss?”“Destiny?”“I don’t mean that I think our lives are mapped out for us – I do believe we have the freedom to choose our fates. But I think that some choices lead us toward what was meant to be, while others lead us away,” Blake said.Weiss nodded. “Okay. That’s pretty much how I see things also.”Blake looked down at her hands. “What if I missed my chance, Weiss? I’m twenty-four, and look at the choices I’ve made: I ran away from home at fifteen to be with Adam. I was committing crimes by the time I was sixteen. I stayed with Adam for two more years after I left the White Fang, even though by then I knew full well what he was. That's a lot of bad decisions, Weiss. What if I’m now so far from where I’m meant to be that there’s no longer any way for me to get there?”“Blake —”“No, don’t feel sorry for me, Weiss. I made those choices — no one made them for me.” Blake drained her wine glass. “So to answer your question, I do feel lost — and yes, lonely — sometimes.” She looked over at Weiss and saw the sadness in her friend’s eyes.“Maybe your path to your destiny has been a little more indirect than some people’s,” Weiss said. “But I don’t for a minute believe that you won’t get there as long as you keep moving forward.”Blake looked down at her lap. “I love you, Weiss. I’m glad you’re my friend.”“I love you too. Now let’s stop talking and watch this stupid movie. And it’s your turn to refill our glasses.”
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Blake woke to the sound of one of her neighbors closing his door none too quietly.The downside of having two sets of ears, Blake thought irritably, is that you hear more than you should.They had both fallen asleep on the sofa after the wine ran out but before the movie was over, and Weiss, looking very peaceful, was still sleeping soundly. Blake reached for her sketchbook and pencil, and she spent the next few minutes sketching.“Are you drawing me?” Weiss said sleepily, her eyes still closed.Blake chuckled. “Maybe,” she said.Weiss opened her eyes. “Let me see.”Blake handed her the sketchbook.“It’s lovely,” Weiss said. “Next time, you should draw me without my boob showing.”“Next time, you should tie your yukata properly,” Blake replied.Weiss snorted. “I’m going to make coffee.”Blake took the opportunity to steal the rest of the blanket when Weiss left the sofa, and she ignored Weiss’s withering look when she returned with her coffee.“I forgot to tell you a very important piece of news last night,” Weiss said between sips from her mug.“Which is?” Blake asked.Weiss paused dramatically. “We’re going to the Vale Ball next month,” she said.Blake blinked. “The what?”Weiss rolled her eyes. “It’s only the major social event of the year, so I’m not surprised you haven't heard of it,” she said sarcastically, expertly dodging Blake’s half-hearted attempt to kick her.“And why do I want to go to a ball?” Blake said.“Because I want to go, and I’m not going alone,” Weiss said. “It’s not easy to get an invitation, you know. Besides, it’s fun to wear beautiful but uncomfortable clothes and talk to lots of haughty people you’d never be friends with in real life.”Blake laughed. “Wow, that does sound like a great time, Weiss.”Weiss snickered. “These sorts of events are really about making connections,” she said, looking more serious. “And life is all about who you know.”