Chapter 23
In the evening, the night fell along the Gothic arches, and the twelve arched glass skylights filtered the last light of the day into a pale golden veil.
Alicia stood in front of the painting “In Ashes, We Rise,” her fingertips unconsciously brushing against the sapphire pendant nestled between her collarbones.
The sapphire rose and fell with her breath, resembling a tear that was about to fall.
This was the gift Nolan gave her when she returned, reflecting the remaining tulip petals on the canvas, emitting a nebula–like shimmer.
The deep blue slice reflected the frozen flames on the canvas – it was the glass greenhouse that had been burned down a year ago, with three hundred tulips curled into eternal burnt brown in the flames.
Alicia gazed at the mottled oil colors on the canvas, the vermilion bursting through the crackling brown cracks.
“The frame of this painting actually had scorch marks.”
The curator, wearing a silk chiffon gown, wrapped her fingertips in silk scarves, lightly touching the charred black pine wood edges, where the carbonized texture revealed faintly painted gold vines.
At that moment, she turned around with a light laugh, her hair brushing against her ears, where Nolan’s kiss marks lingered. “Because my inspiration came from a fire in the greenhouse.”
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The crowd suddenly erupted in small gasps of astonishment.
On the east side of the gallery, “The Breath of Maroon Bells” shimmered under the spotlight like porcelain.
A six–square–meter linen canvas soaked up Colorado’s traditional mineral pigments. The midnight blue sky pressed against the silver- white ridges, blending with the Milky Way vortex and the lights that dotted the ridges.
Alicia deliberately ground the traditional mineral pigments of Colorado seven times, and the particles of turquoise and azurite condensed into an icy crystal texture on the linen cloth.
In the center of the exhibition hall, the cylindrical glass display case suddenly lit up with soft light, and Alicia felt her heart being gripped by an invisible hand.
On the deep blue velvet lining, the silver–gilt butterfly on the edge of the “Callie” frame was awakening.
The veins of the large blue flash butterfly were flowing with mineral pigments from the ninth century, obtained from the chapel of Aspen. The orpiment and realgar blended at the tips of the butterfly wings into a strange violet color, just like the winding veins on Callie’s lifeless body.
Alicia trembled slightly, her fragile body as delicate as a piece of paper, as if it could dissipate at any moment.
Nolan gently held her icy fingertips, the warmth of Frankincense seeping through his suit sleeve and spreading in her heart.
One month ago, late at night, he stood in the shadow of the studio, watching her crush cinnabar into a mist of blood with an agate pestle.
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In the midst of the fluttering cinnabar dust, he clearly saw the teardrops hanging on the corner of her eye.
The cinnabar powder mixed in the pigment was now shimmering in the iridescent blue scales of the butterfly wings, casting a dull red hue.
The numbers on the bidding screen suddenly started jumping crazily, and all the items had a red “reserved” label lit up at the same time.
The crowd erupted in bursts of exclamation, speculating one after another on which hidden tycoon had bought all the paintings.
Alicia saw half of a pale profile flash by at the check–in counter, with a silver chain around the man’s neck holding a silver ring.
The curator hurried over with an ivory–colored notebook, with a charred edge note tucked between the pages. On it was Marcus’s sharp handwriting: “I will carry on with Callie’s part, may the rest of your life be smooth sailing, no need to look back.”
Alicia walked slowly onto the stage. At that moment, she raised her champagne glass, and the light refracted by the crystal chandelier formed a cluster of butterflies on the dome of the exhibition hall.
“The proceeds from this auction will be donated in full to the Callie Charitable Foundation to support and nurture young artists in pursuing their dreams.”
Her toast triggered a flurry of camera shutters.
“May all souls scorched by fate find the phosphorescence of rebirth in the ashes.”
Alicia raised her glass from afar, as if toasting a distant dear friend.
Alicia suddenly heard the faint sound of butterfly wings fluttering as
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they were refracted by the crystal chandelier. Callie chuckled softly in her ear, “Thank you, Ally.”
