Her vision blurs and -- with a shaky exhale -- she wonders if any of this is a wise decision. Amber irises gloss over as her gaze stays rested onto the canvas. Maybe she was only feeling a certain way because her talent in the artistic field wasn’t as... definite, as her profession in dance and song. Maybe she was only feeling a certain way because the very person she was to gift this to... had met her gaze and started to... approach her.
Azura freezes, and it’s painfully evident of the shock drawn over her features. Only when he’s a few spaces in front of her, does the songstress attempt to turn the canvas towards her in a trivial attempt at keeping its appearance... concealed.
“O-Oh, er, Prince Siegbert,” her gaze shifts onto the hallway floor before raising back to meet carmine irises. So glazed... so narrowed... she can’t her head from tilting downwards in his presence. It’s humorous, if only the moment wasn’t damaging her own conscious. Maybe, the atmosphere wasn’t as suffocating as she perceived it to be. Maybe, the prince in front of her was able to breathe just fine... why was she having trouble then? No, no, push the anxiety down. Push it back in her stomach to face later, but now, she had something to do. Something to commit to.
“As you know... it’s your birthday and --”
She immediately stops herself. Her words trail off to a low mumble and her eyebrows furrow, lips pursing as her eye twitches. Azura’s trying... she really is... but really?! ‘As you know, it’s your birthday’ of course, ma’am, he knows this. Goodness, she isn’t the first person to grant him a gift for today. “I... I mean, uhm, since it’s your birthday, I have... nevermind.”
The songstress is quick to turn on her heel and direct her body to move away -- only for a step -- before a frustrated sigh falls past her lips. Why was it this hard to simply give her nephew a gift? Why couldn’t she simply bottle this pressure and push it down. Push it somewhere... anywhere.
It’s the rejection she fears, isn’t it?
Before her mind can crumble underneath the pressure, Azura inhales deeply and turns back towards Siegbert -- carefully holding out the canvas for him to see. “I-It’s quite... small and n-not as great as it should be... but hopefully, you’ll like... like it.” There’s tears pricking at her eyes, yet she lowers her head down and bites her lip. Ignore them... do not perceive. Once the canvas is safely in Siegbert’s hands, the songstress hurries off around the corner... disappearing past a few students and into the confinements of her dorm.
The art itself seems a bit abstract yet there’s evidently, two figures on what appears to be... a hill? The contrast of blue and yellow makes it slightly obvious that the both the songstress and the prince have been painted onto the canvas. Overlooking the hues and shades of a sunrise... it isn’t bad, surprisingly done well. Yet... Azura’s gone and has refused to face the fact.
Happy Birthday, dear Prince Siegbert.
The thought only came to mind as he was deciding on what pastries to get that he had not shared tea with his beloved aunt in some time. They were most definitely due for another get-together. Though he didn't like to flaunt about what day it was, it didn't hurt to use the it's-my-birthday-so-you-have-to-do-what-I-ask card now and again. Catching a glimpse of Azura down the hall, Siegbert approaches with a smile.
"Aunt Azura, I've told you before, just Siegbert is fine. We're family, after all." Though he's curious about what she holds in her hands, he keeps his gaze on her face; it's clear she's trying to hide whatever it is that's painted on that canvas.
As she struggles, his gentle smile morphs into an expression of worry. Carefully, he reaches for her, a question on the tip of his tongue, but she turns out of his grasp at the last second. His hand hovers for a moment, only to drop the moment she turns back towards him.
"I-It’s quite... small and n-not as great as it should be... but hopefully, you’ll like... like it."
His heart clenches. Does she fear rejection so much? As though he could ever, ever feel anything but pure awe and love for a gift made by her own talented hands?
Siegbert accepts the canvas gratefully. He examines it with adoration weighing on his heart, clutching at his throat, threatening tears to build; a time of peace between them, aunt and nephew. A time of happiness.
By the time he looks up again, she's gone.
The canvas earns a place of honor above his desk, where he can see it every time he sits down. Only after it's carefully hung on the wall does he leave in pursuit of the songstress; she can't avoid him forever. Thankfully, her dorm is nearby, and after a gentle knock on the door and the call of her voice allowing him entry, he steps inside.
Strong arms pull the songstress into an embrace when she stands to greet him. "Your painting is beautiful, Aunt Azura," he says, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I love it. I'll treasure it, always. Thank you for such a wonderful gift."