Sinthia and The Demon Duke of DeSidea: 9

“Sinthia this is preposterous!” A shrill, angry voice shouted. Sinthia stood in the drawing room, looking over a painted canvas. Behind her, heels clacked against tile heavily as a pretty woman with big green eyes stormed forward. That woman was Cecilia Rosemary Dunver. In simple terms; one of Sinthia’s half-sisters. Sinthia continued to look upon the painting, pleased by what she saw. The woman now stood a little behind her, barely containing her anger. “You’ve purchased ten dresses, more than a dozen earrings and necklaces, snuck around in the commoner’s realm doing God knows what, and now you commissioned a SECOND engagement portrait?? We already sent one to your fiancé!”

Sinthia remained smiling quietly as she thought. A few weeks ago, she had awoken from the slumber caused by an apparent suicide attempt. Or so people believed. In actuality, the one that woke up was not the Sinthia they were familiar with. Back in the “Waiting Room for the Afterlife”, Sinthia of Ophelia had offered Sinthia of the 21st Century her very own lifeline. Of course, without a moment’s hesitation, she had accepted it. Sinthia of Ophelia had identified a goal that could not be achieved without giving away her lifeline after all, so it all worked out in the end. Except that it worked out strangely.

The second that Sinthia of the 21st Century has touched the lifeline, the memories and experiences of Sinthia of Ophelia had flooded into her mind. They were not simple images and pictures floating by, no. The process was violent, debilitating and invasive. Because Sinthia of the 21st century wasn’t merely viewing the memories, but LIVING as Sinthia of Ophelia. Feeling as she felt. Seeing as she saw. Hearing and tasting and smelling as she did. The pain of being deceived by sisters, the inferiority festering within. In what felt like both an instant and an eternity, she had experienced it all. And then she had woken up in the body of Sinthia of Ophelia. She knew everything that that girl had known and more, so the annoying yapping woman behind her did not feel like some distant caricature that she could ignore. She felt genuine loathing welling up somewhere in her. Sinthia did not know if it was her own hate or something else, but needless to say, it was potent.

“Why, sister? What’s wrong with sending a second, more accurate portrait to my wonderful fiancé?” Sinthia cooed, turning round to look at her sister’s face. Cecilia was indeed beautiful. Sun-kissed skin and long, waving golden hair. But that beauty was useless because of how rotten inside she was. “We already send him one. What’s the point of sending him another... far more ugly one!?” An engagement portrait was something that two people engaged sent to each other, since they rarely would ever meet before the marriage. In this world, marriage was not a matter of love or romance. It was a practicality. Something Sinthia could very much appreciate, considering how her previous life’s marriages ended. In an engagement portrait, a secret, very subtle communication was being made. People called it the “Language of Portraiture.”

The way a person was painted communicated what it was the person would offer in the arrangement. The first portrait of Sinthia sent by her family had been heavily modified, emphasizing her eyes, hair, and body. The message was clear; a beautiful, desirable wife. Her pose even more so. She had been painted laying upon a chaise lounge surrounded by flowers, make up and fabric. Those were to represent what occupied her attention the most. Lovely, superficial things. But perhaps the most annoying was the dress they chose. A soft, light pink sleeveless dress that, to say the least, was provocative. Outlining every curve and every bump. The message THAT sent was crystal clear. Bountiful and fertile, hypnotizing, inviting. That was the message her sisters had asked for that portrait.

So of course they would be very mad at the portrait that she had painted. The message it sent was... interesting. “It’s far uglier! He won’t want you if he saw that!” To this Sinthia shrugged. “I doubt a big, scary demon would shy away from a woman looking realistic, dear sister. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading to the City Square.” Sinthia gave an exaggerated smile and batted her eyelashes in a lovely manner before promptly strolling out, leaving her flabbergasted sister ready to explode.