Prigioniera

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The artist owed me money. And I intended to get it. He had been in debt to me for four years! I toiled away penniless, because of my loan to him, and what did he do? He never repaid me. Ever. Well, now he was going to. Whether he liked it or not.

I spoke with my husband. The conversation did not go well.

“Nico, I’m going to steal our money back from the artist.”

Nico’s eyes widened. “Lisa, don’t! He will pay us back!”

“He never will. He’s too absorbed in his work.”

“His art? Or his black magic?”

“What?” I asked, thrown off of my very convincing speech.

“I have heard dark things about that man. The old wives say he practices dark magic, and that he has since the reign of King Arthur.”

“Are we speaking of the same person? Have you met him? He is elderly, jovial, and perfectly content with his poor life. I have never seen a wicked mage live in poverty.”

“Lisa, I forbid you.”

I realized that he was never going to allow me to go. I feigned a depressed sigh.

“Fine, I will stay.”

I cooked Nico his favorite supper. I refilled his wine glass at least ten times. When I was fully sure he was intoxicated, I suggested we go to bed. He agreed wholeheartedly. We retired to our bedroom.

It didn’t take long for Nico to fall asleep. After I was sure the wine had knocked him out, I rose and dressed in a dark robe. I left our home as quietly as I could. I slid out the back door, and slipped through the dark streets. Finally, I found the artist’s workshop. I crept in. “The old artist must be asleep,” I thought.

It was easy to find his money pouch. I extracted the money we needed: forty-five golden coins. I slid them into a small pouch of my own. As I was exiting, I noticed the artist’s latest painting on an easel, covered in cloth.

“It should not hurt to look at the master’s painting before anyone else,” I whispered quietly. The artist was actually quite talented. I enjoyed his works, but hated the man. I snuck over to the painting, and slid off the covering. It was beautiful. A young, blonde woman with beautiful green eyes sat in a white robe in front of a forest. Her hands were folded. The only problem was she was frowning horribly. I smiled in spite of myself.

The green eyes began to glow brilliantly. My vision flipped, turned double, and then was normal again. My entire body felt squashed. My hands were folded in my lap. I was still wearing my smile, and I couldn’t seem to relax my muscles. I looked around me and saw the artist’s shop. The artist entered, and stared at me.

“Well, well, my Mona Lisa. Perhaps next time you should think twice about stealing from the home of a dark mage.”

I tried to move my mouth to reply. Nothing happened. All I could move were my eyes. Had the dark mage struck me with a paralysis? The artist drew near. I tried to step away, but could not stand up. He held up a canvas cover, the same one that had been on the painting, and covered me up. It was only then that I realized I had replaced the girl in the painting.

My existence is a torturous one. My only joy is having outlived the mage. But now, I am stuck on a wall. Many an observer have come to me, and they all wonder one thing. “How did Da Vinci make those eyes follow you?”