Bastien
Bastien was glad Melita appreciated the gold leaf. Admittedly it was not difficult to enjoy the appeal of shiny things, but her enthusiasm made him smile; he missed being young and easily excited by anything he liked. He still enjoyed, still thrived, but there was always an element of maturity to it now, the wisdom that it was to be savoured now before it went away. As Melita eagerly added it to her work he thought how he would spend hours agonising over the placement, and yet her moments consideration had created something so much more spontaneous and beautiful. "You are welcome. What a wonderful use of it."What did he think of the Gods here? While his devotion to one in particular was obvious, he often wondered about their existence as a whole and how it had taken over his life, in the same way their presence seemed embedded into every stone of the Hollowed Grounds. "When I first arrived, learned that Gods here could be seen, were real...well. I became very sure I had to make myself one of them. After all, if they are physical beings, almost another race, then I thought it may be possible. Over time, though...it seems they are often unreasonable and petty; the reason I chose to stay with The Voice was her relative calm and kindness. If I can become a God like The Voice, I think I would like...ah, I've gotten away from your question." He laughed, shaking his head. "Basically, my opinion is mixed. What about you?"
He returned to his work as well, trying to be more gestural, in the moment. "I wouldn't take it for granted. After all, none of my companions from Venice came with me - there was no chance for me to warn them I was leaving, even." Sighing, Bastien wondered for the hundredth time if his old friends thought he was dead. "It is partly this reason why I take such care to remember and take notice of each moment I have with her. Of course, I would do it anyway as I love her, but there is more reason to for knowing we could have it all ripped away in an instant, if the world so chose."
Perhaps this was too heavy for a 19 year old who had simply come to paint. "...But it has not happened yet, so there is no point in despairing. Would you like to take your artwork home with you, or could I have the honour of displaying it in here?"
Let's pick the truth that we believe in
like a bad religion
