Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@doriangrayinlove
“All men kill the thing they love By all let this, by all let this be heard
Some kill their love when they are young And some when they are old Some strangle with the hands of Lust Some with the hands of Gold The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold”
She is dead.
She is dead. Sybil Vane is dead.
Lord Henry just came by and told me the news. She swallowed some sort of poison in her dressing room after I stormed out last night.
I have murdered her. Her death was because of me. Oh, how dramatic life can be! I just wrote my first passionate love-letter to a dead girl! How my life revolved around her! It seemed like so long ago, but it was only last night that she acted so poorly and she became nothing to me. But then I felt regret and I promised I would return to her. And now she is dead. How selfish of her to kill herself!
Why do I not feel this tragedy with as much emotion as I would like? Am I heartless? Henry tells me I am not, and I agree. This just feels like the end of a play, a beautiful conclusion of a great tragedy.
What a romance this has been!
Letter
I woke up late today and went along as usual, until I laid my eyes upon my portrait. I remembered last night and the gruesome expression it held. I could not believe it actually changed, I thought I must have hallucinated.
But when I looked behind the screen I had placed in front of it, I found it to be true.
I was so terrible to Sybil, I know I must make amends. She is so innocent, and there was no reason to treat her how I did. I know what I will do. I will write her a letter of remorse, of passion, asking for forgiveness. I will tell her a madness came over me last night and I do not understand my actions!
Portrait
The portrait Basil painted for me has changed. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye as I walked by, so I went over to examine it more closely. The face has most definitely changed into a cruel expression, but it does not look as though anyone has altered it. I am dumbfounded.
But I remember! Once the portrait was painted, I made a wish- that I would stay young if the portrait grew old. That I my beauty would not be tarnished, and that my sins would be made apparent on the face of the painting.
Has this wish come true? Has my cruel treatment of Sybil manifested itself onto the portrait? No, it can’t be. I loved her because of her art, and she threw that away. But I do feel regret as I remember her sobbing after I told her I would leave, that she wasn’t worthy to love anymore. Women are always over-emotional though, it is not my problem.
But the marred expression of the portrait does not lie. Oh, I must make up with Sybil! I will marry her and we will live a happy life together!
To love is to admire with the heart; to admire is to love with the heart.
Gautier