Maha had but one hobby: painting. She only did watercolors though, not the more impressive oil painting. Still, she enjoyed it. Whenever she was bothered by something or felt down, she would pick up the brush to relax.
After training Ruri, Maha returned to her room, set up the easel, and began painting away. The wooden folding easel was something Ney had bought for her on a whim and was what started her painting journey in the first place. It was well-worn and dirty, but it was made to be sturdy and would last a good while longer yet.
Maha drew portraits. Not of herself, but of her comrades. Her memory of her comrades was precious to her, and that was precisely what made them such good offerings to me. She painted her comrades while she could, never certain which memories she'd lose next.
Maha has been painting for a while now and has grown fairly skilled. It was fair to say she had talent. However…
“You have no sense for color, Maha.”
“I know. You don’t have to keep pointing it out every time.”
Her picture had the accuracy of a preliminary sketch, and the composition wasn’t bad. But the use of color was just awful. She seemed aware of that fact herself, but no matter how she went about things, her painting always came off as dark and gloomy.
“…Just what am I doing wrong?”
“Well… Your paintings lack a sort of…flavor, I suppose? I’m not sure how to explain it.”
“Is that so…”
The two of us were talking when there was a knock at the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Maha?” Ruri’s voice called out. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” She entered the room with a smile, then looked quizzically at Maha. “What you doing?”
“What’s it look like? I’m painting.”
“Oh. Painting. May I look?”
“I guess…”
“Thank you.” She curiously ran her eyes up and down Maha’s painting. “Miss Maha. You’re very good.”
“…Thanks.”
“I want to paint too!”
“Huh?” Maha froze out of the suddenness of what Ruri said.
“Not allowed?”
“No, it’s fine, but… Why do you want to paint?”
“Miss Maha’s painting is wonderful. I want to paint like you.”
So she was just curious, it seemed. Children tended to imitate what adults did, and it seemed Ruri was no exception. Maha decided to just let her do as she pleased. “…Sure. I don’t care.”
“Thank you!” Ruri beamed, making Maha freeze up again. The girl hadn’t the slightest idea of how Maha felt about her. She accepted a notebook from Maha, opened it, and began to paint with it in her lap.
Maha tried to ignore her presence at first, but as an artist, she couldn’t help but grow curious about her painting. She glanced over and snuck a look at what Ruri was making.
…It’s beautiful, Maha thought. The words came from the heart. Ruri’s painting was by no means good. The quality was all over the place, and the composition was childish. But it was full of color. The world in her painting was animated and brimming with life.
“Did you learn to paint from somebody?” Maha couldn’t help herself from asking. Ruri looked up and shook her head.
“No, this is first time. I tried to copy Miss Maha. But it’s hard for me.” She smiled sheepishly.
“That’s not true. I think your painting is great.”
“Really?!”
“Sure.”
“Thank you very much!” Ruri began painting with even more vigor, thrilled to receive praise. She laid color atop color, making her little world shine all the brighter with each layer.
“How vivid.”
Yeah. This must be how the world looks through her eyes…
Maha looked at Ruri’s blindingly colorful painting, then looked back at her own. Maha’s own painting was lifelike but depicted a sad world with faded colors. She had a feeling the difference between their art wasn’t just a difference of subject matter.
…I don’t think I could ever see the world the way she does.
To Maha, the world constantly denied her a place within it. She was brought into the world for the sole purpose of fighting and had to constantly struggle just to exist. Her circumstances shouldn’t be much different from Ruri, a homunculus made for war. But the world Ruri saw was just…
“Miss Maha? Is something wrong?”
Ruri’s voice brought Maha back to her senses. Only then did she realize her mind had become lost in a mental labyrinth of her own making.
“…No, I’m fine.”
She pulled herself together and returned to her painting. This time, she made a conscious effort to use more color. But no matter how much she layered, no matter how much she tried to imitate Ruri, her painting resembled reality too greatly and looked drained of color.
Her eighth sigh that day was tinged with despair.