Odalisque - Chapter 1

The man crossed his long legs and leaned back into the chair. His white-gloved fingers rhythmically tapped the armrest. As a subtle wrinkle formed between his fine brows, the curator, keenly observant, gestured, prompting the frame in front of the man to be swiftly taken down by the staff. They moved quickly to hang the next painting, clearly unwilling to waste time.

Confirming that the man’s blue eyes were now fixed on the new painting, the curator spoke calmly, “This painter is an emerging talent, currently receiving considerable attention. He recently won an award at the Academy Art Exhibition, receiving high praise.”

This was the piece the curator was most confident about among the ones prepared today. The previous pieces were, without question, merely a prelude to highlight this one.

“His use of light is quite impressive. Far more sensitive than the previous painters.”

Of course, treating the artist’s works like this contradicted the curator’s beliefs.

This was Royven, the largest art gallery in Buerno, and he was its curator. Apart from his title, Aaron came from a family with a long tradition in the arts. He had grown up surrounded by an appreciation for art and knew how to cherish it.

The issue was that Aaron’s guest today was an exceedingly influential figure.

“This artist often uses mythological themes to express his work’s essence. I believe you recognize the figure in this piece.”

The man slightly tilted his head, strands of platinum hair falling out of place with the movement. His eyes slowly traced the voluptuous, pale skin depicted in the painting before his crimson lips parted.

“The Moon Goddess, is it?”

“Correct. It’s a portrayal of humanity’s primordial desires reflected in the untouchable divinity…”

“Cliché.”

It took dozens of artworks before the man finally spoke, and yet, what came out was a cynical critique.

Aaron stifled a sigh, his face carefully composed. He’d hoped that, at last, he had a piece that would meet the man’s lofty standards. To no avail—even the piece he had been most proud of was now to be discarded.

This wasn’t just about catering to the guest’s taste. It was also Aaron’s personal test of his own curatorial skills. The marquis’ peculiar and selective taste always provoked Aaron’s competitive spirit.

The Marquis Dietrion’s peculiar preference for only nude paintings was almost notorious.

“I apologize. It seems that, once again, I failed to find a piece that satisfies you, my lord.”

Marquis Dietrion was a renowned collector among art enthusiasts. His regular acquisitions made him a significant patron Aaron could not afford to lose. Oddly enough, the marquis focused not on the artist’s fame or prospects but solely on the theme of the artwork.

And that theme was always nudes.

Aaron swallowed his regret and signaled to the staff.

Regardless of whether the piece pleased him, the marquis would still purchase every nude painting he inspected today, as he had always done.

“That one?”

As Aaron was about to wrap up, the marquis gestured toward something behind Aaron.

It was then Aaron realized he had forgotten one piece. He turned to look behind him, his lips pressing into an awkward line.

“Ah, that piece…”

What should he say about it? It was merely something to round out the collection.

Aaron loved all works of art, but only those that met a certain standard. And this one was…

“Compared to the previous works, the style is somewhat rough, and you might find it unpleasant.”

Inferior artworks sometimes drew collectors’ ire.

In Aaron’s eyes, this piece was exactly that. He had picked it up during his spree of acquiring nudes, but it was notably inferior to the others. Most likely, no one but Marquis Dietrion would even consider buying it. But Aaron had been too embarrassed to present it before.

However, the marquis seemed intrigued by Aaron’s reluctance. His eyes remained fixed on Aaron.

“Hang it.”

Reluctantly, Aaron instructed the staff. The employees, who had been watching cautiously, moved swiftly.

The painting, now hanging alone on the expansive, pristine wall, looked starkly out of place compared to those that had hung before.

The painter’s lack of skill wasn’t the only reason for its mediocrity. The inadequacy came from the half-naked woman depicted within the frame.

The woman stood straight with her bare back facing the viewer. Her slightly bowed head, arms gathered in front of her, and legs pressed tightly together made her resemble a tree stump standing desolately in the wilderness.

The unnatural, awkward posture of the woman evoked an uncomfortable feeling in the viewer. Though her body seemed attractive, it alone could not make her a good model.

Looking again, nothing changed. The figure remained stiff and awkward. No beauty, no artistic value emanated from her.

‘Tsk.’

Aaron expected the marquis to quickly lose interest—to frown at the sight and turn away, deeming it unworthy of comment.

Contrary to expectation, the marquis didn’t react that way. He simply stared at the woman’s desolate back.

“My lord?” Aaron cautiously called out.

Instead of answering, the marquis abruptly stood, grasping the cane propped beside his chair. Slowly, his shoes echoed as he closed the distance.

Standing in front of the painting, the marquis remained silent for quite some time. Although Aaron often struggled to understand the marquis’s behavior, he found today particularly inexplicable.

He watched the marquis warily, concerned that the artwork’s poor quality might have angered him. Aaron feared the marquis might lash out, wielding his cane in frustration. Fortunately, no sign of anger appeared on the marquis’s face—quite uncharacteristically calm for someone known for his temperamental nature.

At last, the marquis spoke.

“This painter.”

“Pardon?”

“The painter’s name.”

Aaron’s eyes widened, forgetting to answer as disbelief settled in. A tinge of irritation crossed the marquis’s face at Aaron’s bewildered reaction.

Delaying would certainly earn him a rebuke. Aaron quickly composed himself and responded.

“Th-The artist has yet to make an official debut… I will verify immediately and send the details to you, my lord.”

Aaron wanted to bite his tongue for his mistake. He hadn’t expected the marquis to ask for the artist’s name, leaving him unprepared.

The marquis nodded without a word and turned away. His expression remained as sharp and aloof as ever, showing no hint of satisfaction or joy that would indicate he’d found a piece he truly liked.

Ultimately, it had been just like any other day. The difference, perhaps, was that the marquis had inquired about an unknown painter, though he soon seemed to forget the matter altogether. Aaron, too, quickly dismissed it from his mind.

‘It probably caught his eye due to its peculiarity, but it seems it didn’t hold up on a second glance,’ Aaron thought.

***

The atmosphere felt different today.

Normally, the overpowering smell of paint filled the space, but today it seemed to have all been swept away, leaving an almost refreshing scent. Yet, the freshness made her stomach churn.

Her deep green eyes trembled with unease. Clutching the shawl in her hands, she pulled it tighter, hunching her shoulders. She licked her dry lips and cautiously took a step forward. Even if she stepped harder, the floor wouldn’t creak, but she always walked as lightly as possible. Not just her steps—

She always silenced herself. From the moment she left her house to when she arrived at this building, from opening the front gate to stepping into the chaotic third-floor studio. Until she stood by the bed amidst the disarray.

Today, her movements were even slower. More cautious, more guarded than usual. But stranger still was that Brad—impatient, quick-tempered Brad—sat waiting, displaying remarkable patience. That only served to heighten her suspicion. Today, Brad wasn’t wearing his usual shabby work clothes or the dye-stained apron. Even his usually scruffy beard was neatly trimmed.

Everything seemed wrong.

The only familiar thing was the old bed with its blanket half-slipping off.

“Hurry up and take it off.”

Brad, finally unable to contain his impatience, spoke up. Even that was uncharacteristic of him. His restrained voice hinted at how much he was holding back his temper. She took a deep breath, trembling fingers pulling her shawl away.

Since she started visiting the studio, she had made a point of choosing jackets buttoned to her chin and clothes that covered her skin thoroughly. It was a pointless stubbornness. She knew the extra layers only made undressing more cumbersome, yet she insisted on wearing them, as if doing so would somehow change what she had to do. Brad often scoffed, sensing her intentions.

Layer by layer, she removed her clothes, finally slipping off her worn undergarments, folding everything neatly in a pile to the side. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she climbed onto the bed with composure.

“Raise your arms like you’re about to let your hair down.”

Kneeling on the bed, her back to Brad, she moved as instructed. Her tied-up hair slipped between her slender fingers, some strands escaping the loose band.

A chill touched her straightened back. It wasn’t simply because she was naked; today, she felt the gaze on her skin as if it were sharper than usual. It felt like the sharp edge of a razor gently grazing her surface.

“Tilt your upper body slightly to the side—no, not that much. Yes, like that…”

Brad, who would normally be direct with his instructions, hesitated today, eventually muttering, “Can’t we show your face, even just a little?”