Open Fields of Grace

"Life in Venice..." Bastien trailed off, looking away for a moment with a wistful smile. Where to start? With the small details, like the chocolate pastries sold on the markets? The golden filigree on the dresses? The masquerades? There was so much. But Kalt had asked for his life especially, so he decided to begin with himself. "I owned a place, I called it a refuge. For the young artists there. There was little support for those who were not born into noble families but wanted to pursue the arts...So I, after my own success as a performer and painter, became benefactor. The deal was this: They gave me half of profits from their sales or shows, and I gave them a house, a family and mentorship. Even those that moved on frequently visited." Talking of all of this felt odd, bringing up remnants of a life that no longer really felt his. "...Maybe...eventually I can have something here similar. But it is hard to build a hub for culture when you do not know the culture you exist in. The history here is all wrapped up in that damn Atheneum, which is an unorganised mess." He shrugged, picked at the grass. "I think the thing I miss the most is the sun. It's not the same, here. It doesn't have the same heat." BASTIEN This tiresome desire to shock and amaze Perhaps I’ll grow out of it one of these days