𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          


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Delilah was enjoying an afternoon to herself. The house was empty with the exception of the maids who left Delilah to herself. Once Delilah got into a rhythm, it was hard to break it. She wore a dress that was designated for painting. It was light in colour and didn't necessarily complement her very well. It had old stains from her oil paints and some new as well. Delilah's hands were covered in paint as were her arms. Typically she didn't get as messy as she was, but once she abandoned her brushes for her fingers half way through the painting, there was no going back. 
Delilah didn't know what had enticed her to abandon her brushes. Maybe it was because she wanted a sense of movement in the seascape. Maybe it was because she wanted something to blame when the painting ended up horribly. She took a step back, keeping her hands raised. The more she looked at the painting, the more she disliked it and wanted to scrape off the drying paint and restart. 
"You always liked the sea." A voice startled Delilah. She wasn't expecting anyone to interrupt her. 
"Matthew," she scolded. "When did you get here?"
"Only a few moments ago," said Matthew, taking a step towards the canvas. "This is exceptional."
Delilah shook her head. "It's all wrong. The colours aren't correct and I am not getting the sense of movement I want. It's all going wrong."
Matthew softly smiled at her. "You are always your biggest critic."
"I have to be," Delilah muttered as she reached for a rag to wipe away the paint on her hands. "If I want to sell my work, they have to be perfect. I can't afford to make mistakes."
"Your artwork is already perfect."
"You have to say that," Delilah said. "You're my friend."
"I am your friend and as your friend I always tell you the truth and therefore I declare your paintings the best I have ever laid my eyes on."
Delilah looked down to the floor. "Not that I am not enjoying your company, my dear. But why are you here?"
"I wish I were here so we could drink ourselves silly, but I am only here to drop something off." 
Delilah had only just noticed the sheet draped over his arm, something inside of it. 
"I have a gift for you." Matthew slowly took the sheet off an elegant dress. "I saw this and believe that it is to your tastes."
Delilah's jaw dropped. The dress was a deep emerald green and was the most gorgeous dress she had ever laid her eyes on. 
"How did you know my size?" It was the first question that came tumbling out of Delilah's mouth.
"Anna had your measurements. She didn't ask why I needed them."
Delilah stepped closer, the dress lightly sparkled in the afternoon sun.