Colors find themselves on a canvas, though they do not take full sway over the white. A tower stands tall against a vague outline of the night sky, taken away from its companions in Upper Canterlot, affixed to the canvas alone. The night is shaded similarly to her most recent depiction of Canterlot, though invisible stars still give the tower a lovely halo of cool white, and in the sky, she has still depicted the new moon, though it stands just as alone as the tower itself, without its companion stars. A gap of white sits between the two objects, though just enough to detach them. The nights colors are dull, as before, though not nearly so heartless.
The building is painted in a grey, as the faded white meets the low nighttime lighting. The trace cracks are marked well in a darker shade, spidering their ways around, over the surface of the tower, like a floral design all its own, a meaningful negative finery. A small wooden door is found at the tower’s base, nearly hidden by the night’s dim shade. A small metal handle is found on the door, though it is hidden a bit by the boards that cross over in front, nailed on either end to the wall. Regardless, the entire element is found in remarkable detail, in every bit beautiful to the artist.
The detail continues further up on the tower, in the windows, similarly boarded, with decayed shutters. In some spots, the viewer can see a glimpse of the building’s insides, notions of a grandfather clock, a cabinet with broken china plates, though the rest is obscured. The building grows thinner farther up onto the next level, with two more visible windows, which are, as well, boarded. The shutters only reveal a void beyond in these instances, meeting dead walls or shadow. On the final floor is depicted a single window, without boards, its shutters opened, and a blue decrepit curtain floating out in a faint autumn wind. The curtain is riddled with holes, faded out of its original colors, having long lost its luster.
Still, it is strange to find a single window open on the tower. Inside can be seen some trace details, what seems like a set of books on a shelf, all faded a bit, though not nearly so much as the curtain. It is very curious, especially to the artist. Still, she paints them all the same, in the greatest detail that can be mustered. The starlight illuminates the curtain well, as it sticks out astray from the rest of the building. Just a bit further up is the roof of the tower, which narrows slower and slower as it approaches the top, producing an inward curve, and a sharp-looking needle at the top, a rather neat point.
It is perhaps the most interesting thing she has ever found in Canterlot, the tower. It is one of the few things that actually does match her style, the amplification of the trace decays. The palace hardly lends itself so well. Here, on the tower, she has a wonderful set of flaws to accentuate, to find beauty in. Under the new moon, the building can be cast in exactly her light, the soft light which casts just enough shadows for the cracks. Perhaps it is a shame that the buildings surrounding should not be painted, though they are not of the same nature. Perhaps it would allow a contrast, but they may also muddle the meaning. It is incomplete, and will remain such. It is regrettable, but not nearly so much. As always, it remains her choice, just as much as love is her choice.
She should have loved to look inside, but it is not her place, she knows. Just so, the knowledge of the inside can add no more to the painting of the outside. They are different entirely. Just the small glimpse will do. Perhaps it will spark her same curiosity in another. That is all she asks for, a reaction and an audience. That is all she expects, really. The wayfarer shares her curiosity, but also her restraint. Even their adventures have bounds. Some things must be waited for. She knows already she cannot understand what lies within. Perhaps one day. Perhaps their child will see it.
Some mysteries must remain so. The mind enjoys curiosity nearly as much as discovery. After all, there must always be something new for each revisiting. When they know the world better, then they shall visit, she thinks. It always traces back to experience, whether it is the subject of wayfaring or love or art. So, the curtains remain solitary, the tower strangely vacant.
The beauty of any revisiting, of course, is time. Every bit of every city feels time’s toll, and so there is something new at each corner. The longer a building is left alone, the greater the discoveries are found within. The tower is like a gleaming gem to the couple, but it will only be so as long as they leave it alone, just as flowers must be left alone to bloom. No such intrigue can be found in the buildings around it, for they have not lived long enough to collect stories. They too, bloom with age. Their love takes on more beautiful forms, their bonds grow stronger, sometimes without their notice. It is a more constant discovery, something far more visible. It will bloom in full, one day, as odd as it may seem, and that is where the analogy of the flower shall be lost. Perhaps when one flower has bloomed, another will bloom in turn. Then, they will be ready to see what rests above.
So, it is better that the tower remain alone with the new moon. They make a fair couple, a past and a present. The rest still has yet to meet a harsh future. Only in a crucible may be found the purest beauties of meaning, the purest hearts.