Painting Sorrows

All Secrets Are Entrustments.

All Secrets Are Told On Their Time.

The sun was setting rapidly but for Vladimir every day felt like a year and every year like a millennium. Vladimir had lost someone dear to him. Someone for whom a selfish bastard like him can even give his life.

When people die in front of you, then you learn to endure after some time. But when you lose a loved one in the sea of people, it brings remorse and restlessness of a lifetime.

Vladimir hadn't felt like a living person in this castle for the past seventeen years.

Esmeray had once mentioned that these ancient walls had a calling. She was indeed right. Because with the witch gone Vladimir could feel like the walls were mourning along with him. He gazed around, the walls around him had countless paintings of his bride's eyes.

Eyes he had been catching glimpses of in his dreams. . .

He still remembered the day he had lost her. It was the same day every flavor of life equaled to ashes for him. And from the pas