“Papa, why do you paint?” asked Kyra.

“Luin. I never painted before Luin,” answered Papa without taking his eyes off the canvas. “Don’t tell your grandmother. She once accused me of having an affair with the great dame.” Papa turned his head to see Kyra’s eyes widen, the warm sunlight highlighting her sapphire blues.


“Well, I suppose we all have our obsessions and, well, now don’t tell your grandmother this either, but passion is planted by the mind in the heart. It doesn’t just come from nowhere and Luin, well, let’s just say she—“ Papa hesitated.

“What? Tell me?” asked Kyra.

“Well lets just say she had a mind as beautiful and seductive as any,” Papa mused. “In my opinion, of course, and don’t tell your grandmother I said this, but she was sensually stunning, as powerful in passion and provocative in form as any who has ever lived on Hynerian soil.” Papa paused again, as if lost in memory.

“She must have been beautiful?”

“Luin? “

Kyra giggled as one with a secret. “Yes Papa, Luin, the one I will not mention to grand. Tell me of her beauty. Was she like a princess? Fair and regal?”

“No, no my dear child, she was a Philosopher, of Aesthetics, the Second Order. I think I have a few of her books in my study, but—“

“I know, don’t tell grand.”

Papa smiled.

Categories: Story, Papa, Kyra, Luin