silently, she looks at him, arms at her sides ⸺ no signs of anxiety or defensiveness just yet as she merely stands there, singular eye focused on him. the man that seeks to destroy the canvas, this very world that she lives in, to save his family. the curator. renoir dessendre. oh, her own father resembles him so much, facsimile of him that he is, that alicia feels . . . conflicted. for how can she not, when she recognizes the self-same sorrow in his eyes that her own father carries with him day in and out? but they are not the same. a slow, measured exhale escapes her ere alicia raises a hand, removing the mask covering the scars afflicting her. this is not a shame or secret that she must hide from him of all people, after all. the porcelain falls into the grass with a soft thud, and quiet steps carry the painted version of his daughter closer to renoir. gaze flickering, the sole indication of uncertainty, alicia offers a gloved hand to him, palm turned upward. an extension of trust, however temporary, for he does have the power to gommage her and cast another brushstroke of death. but will he?
Everything in this canvas reminds him of his son. The landscape even as twisted as it is --- it's Verso's. The canvas itself contains a piece of his soul. Renoir is deep in thought when the footsteps approach. Pulled from musings of a grief stricken father, Renoir's gaze lands upon the painted facsimile of his daughter.
His heart hammers in his chest as he's confronted by her. Long white hair, the greyish skin. A singular eye. Half her face hidden behind a porcelain mask. A hand comes up --- he watches as the mask is removed and dropped to the ground. All the while, Renoir is considering, silently. Up until now he had avoided much of the painted family. Silently watching Aline in this fantasy of their marriage. Happier times with that painted mirror of him --- a Renoir that hse wanted and needed HIM to be in her grief.
Her footsteps quiet as she approached with upturned palm. Uncertainty in her eyes and Renoir's gaze unreadable. He keeps his feelings to himself. Complex as they are, he feels no anger towards her or the family Aline painted in her grief for he understands more than she knows. Renoir offers a warmth that the one Aline painted does not. Though he is him, they are also different in many ways. In this, Renoir grounds himself as he takes the offered gloved palm in hand. His touch gentle as Alicia would come to know. For he understands Aline painted memories into them --- whether they are true or fabricated, he does not look deeper into. But, he is certain Alicia knows he is warmth, fatherly affection within that touch.
He could gommage her at any moment but he withholds that power. Instead, he offers the warmth of his gaze. She is not his daughter and he is not her father, but still, there remained a connection of sorts. Despite the fact that their families were different, Renoir holds her hand and there is a sorrow that is woven into his chroma, an apology that is unspoken yet there all the same, shown within is eyes as he gazed down at her.
What he intends to do is unfair to her most of all --- to the painted family. They are caught in the middle of his family's grief. He understands, but that does not shake his goal. Yet, gazing upon Alicia, for a moment, there was the instinct to embrace her, to wrap his arms around her and promise her she'd be safe. It is the instinct of a father and though she resembled his daughter, he knows she is not. He retained his mind and reason.
❝ You deserve a life that I cannot grant. It is unfair. ❞ His voice is thick with emotion, but ultimately he remains true to his decision. ❝ In a different world . . . ❞ He trailed off, but he dropped his hand in order to reach out and rest it upon the side of her face. ❝ We both wish for our families to thrive. ❞
