Thunder boomed outside the massive windows next to her and Ingrid dropped the brush she was holding, the sound startling as it immediately followed a bright flash of lightning that forked across the sky, momentarily lighting up the green flora surrounding Ingrid with an icy glow.
She'd been watching Ignatz paint for the better part of a couple weeks, and she was in a weird mood after classes, and how stupid had she been to think that was all she needed to take up the arts on her own? She was terrible at this, it was awful, and she didn't understand how Ignatz could stand it. Also, the light was horrible, she could barely see it was so overcast, what was she even doing here?
She threw her cup of water on the floor to join the paintbrush, the disgusting muddy brown paint water spreading into a puddle on the floor. All her paints seemed to end up brown, somehow, regardless of what combination she used. Brown, muddy, disgusting sludge, all of it. She was done, she didn't want to do this anymore.
It wasn't nearly as good a distraction as she'd hoped, and Ignatz was a rotten liar, and stupid, and she wished she'd never --
Nope, she couldn't even go there. Ignatz was a dear, and she was being awful. Ignatz deserved better than that.
They all did.
"Ingrid?"
Ingrid startled, and clenched her eyes shut. Of course Dorothea would find her. How on earth did she ever think she could hide from her? Dorothea was smart, of course she'd end up in the garden eventually, how could she be so --
"Ing, what happened? Are you alright? There's water everywhere, and -- "
Ingrid assumed Dorothea had finally noticed the disaster of a canvas that was sitting on the easel in front of her, and she cringed, wishing it would just disappear into the void and save her this horrible embarrassment.
"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to try something different, I guess." She didn't want to look at her failure of a canvas, or at Dorothea's no doubt pitying expression, so she stared hopelessly at the dirty puddle on the floor instead. "It's horrible. I'll never be able to paint like Ignatz."
"Well, yes," Dorothea said, ever the blunt one. "You're not Ignatz, of course you wouldn't paint like him. I’ve never seen you paint before, how long have you been practicing?"
"Um," Ingrid mumbled. "A couple weeks?"
Dorothea cackled. "Well, it's not wonder you don't have Iggy's skill! He's been painting for over ten years, you know. I've been singing since I was four.” Dorothea paused, turning a calculating look on Ingrid, which Ingrid tried desperately to ignore.
“Come on, Ingrid,” she said, her tone softer as she took a step forward, and Ingrid felt the scent of her perfume — a gentle, subtle floral fragrance — soothe her, and she felt fondness well up in her, and couldn’t help leaning into her ever so slightly. “You don't magically become good at something in a week or two, you know that. How long did it take you to feel comfortable riding?"
Ingrid frowned.
"How about mastering a spear?" Dorothea continued, reaching out to brush a loose strand of Ingrid’s hair behind an ear.
Ingrid ached to lean into the touch, and had to force the words out as they got caught in her throat. "I... I see your point."
Dorothea chuckled, the sound warm and fond. "You can be a real dummy sometimes, Ing. Why so impatient?"
Ingrid turned back to her smudges and smears on the canvas, unable to meet Dorothea's piercing gaze. Dorothea could read her like a book, always had been able to, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted right now.
"Just... looking for an escape, for a little while."
"What from?"
Ingrid suppressed a groan. her eyes falling closed as she tried to weather the onslaught of emotions, the tempest of feelings that were rising inside her. Dorothea always knew how to ask the hardest questions.
"From myself," she said, going with the vaguest, least damning answer she could. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and felt Dorothea taking in a breath to ask another piercing, flaying question, removing her carefully arranged shell piece by piece.
But Dorothea closed her mouth again without saying anything, and Ingrid eventually let out a small breath of relief. It seemed Dorothea was considering backing off, at least for now.
"Well, I know what always works to distract you, and painting definitely isn't it."
"Oh yeah?"
"Let's go get something to eat, hmm?"
Ingrid couldn't help the laugh that burst out of her as her stomach began to grumble. Dorothea always had a way of doing that, of finding the joy in any situation, of making her smile, even when she'd thought happiness was far out of reach. "Yeah, you do know me too well," she said, and after cleaning up the mess, they went to the dining hall together.
Dorothea got watery mud-brown paint on the knees of her pants, and didn't even complain about it. Ingrid felt something in her chest squeeze painfully when she realized, but she shoved it down, buried it deep. Dorothea was looking to marry rich, and marry into power, to leave her commoner status far behind; she'd told her as much. Ingrid couldn't give her that, and would never ask her to give it up.
She was determined to be her friend, for as long as Dorothea would have her, and she would find a way to be satisfied with that.