Work Text:
The man before you wasn’t real. There was no way he was. That type of beauty--it just wasn’t real. It was a type of beauty that only poets and artists could possibly hope to create and you were determined to capture it.
He had been mulling about your town for two days now, occasionally selling his wares out of that large, wooden crate he carried on his back.
A peddler. This stunning man was a peddler and that meant you wouldn’t have very long with him.
Each day since you had first laid eyes on him, you had risen with the sun and rushed into market with your father. He was more than happy his only daughter was finally taking an interest in the family business, so he had no problem in taking you with him.
You played along with your father's business only till your eyes caught sight of the man dressed in his flashy bright blue, navy blue, red, and yellow kimono. Then you were rushing to grab your sketch pad, pencils, and travel paints to create like a woman gone mad.
No matter how sore your fingers grew. No matter the crick in your neck or the ache in your lower back as you knelt anywhere and everywhere just to keep your eyes on him. Just so you could capture the sharp angles of his face, the thin yet strong build of his body, the fluid motion of his hair, and that mischievous gleam in his pale yellow eyes.
You felt possessed by his beauty. Possessed by the art you were filling page after page with.
Today’s page was of a tender moment you had witnessed between him and a small child. You had been swift in sketching out how the peddler had knelt before the boy, listening to his plight. He had just exchanged the remedy for the small amount of coin the boy had been clutching in his hand when you turned your eyes away to grab for your brushes.
You looked back towards the street and--he was gone. Gone in the split second it had taken you to retrieve a brush.
Your chest tightened at the realization of your loss. A loss you refused to let stay as such--not when the day had just begun.
With a rushed breath, you started for your small travel bag when something so very soft tickled at your cheek--a blur of white and red filled your peripheral vision.
“How lovely.” A strangled sort of sound croaked in your throat at the suddenness of the silken voice in your ear. You snapped to your feet to face whoever had gotten so close to you only for the very air in your lungs to freeze.
He looked like a god. Like some god forgotten by humans. One now cursed to wander the earth aimlessly for all eternity as a peddler.
This close--you knew your art hadn’t captured that feeling. That god-like nature he oozed.
“You are quite good.” He spoke in a voice of pure velvet.
How could you ever possibly wish to capture such a tune? Your thoughts wondered despite yourself.
“The perks of watching me so closely for so long, I would think.” You pulled your sketch pad tight against your chest.
He had seen you watching him. Had known you had been watching him for days. Your fingers turned to steel around your sketch pad to keep from letting them shake.
Those eyes of pure liquid gold took note of it. Took note of your quietness and protectiveness of the art in your hands and gifted you a sly smile.
“A bashful little thing you are.” He purred, taking a step closer.
“Forgive me.” You breathed out, heart beginning to beat painfully against your ribs. “It was inappropriate of me to watch you--”
“No need for that.” He took yet another step closer. A closeness that, had your father been around, would have promptly chased him away. “I enjoyed it.” He confessed, that mischievous gleam you had tried to recreate on the page shining brightly at you.
“You…don’t find it strange?” You managed to speak, though your voice came out hardly higher than a whisper. The peddler didn’t seem bothered by the volume. Seemed as if he could hear you just fine because he gave a small shake of his head.
“I am honored to be such a talented artist’s muse.” Your body warmed and your mind raced at such words.
He was honored?
“May I see?” He asked, glancing towards the sketch pad you held onto like it was the only thing keeping your feet planted on the ground.
You almost denied him. You never shared your art with anyone. You didn’t believe yourself good enough to showcase such a thing…but his eyes were just so--inviting.
“They are hardly as great as you say.” You muttered, shakily extending your work his way.
“Perhaps greater?” You thought he was teasing you at first, but the way he said it--it sounded like he was truly thinking it over.
“You falter me.” Fingertips brushed over your skin as he took the pad from you. Fingertips that were smooth and warm and electric. Fingers you wished to grab hold of and never let go of. Fingers you wanted to study up close as they felt over your palm.
You pulled your hand away quickly as if burned, cradling them to your chest. The peddler made no comment on such action, merely beginning to leaf through each and every page you had scrawled over.
You waited with jittery nerves as he scanned each artwork over slowly. Waited so long you thought your nerves were going to swarm in and suffocate you.
“The eyes--you’ve managed to capture a lifelike spark within them.” He mused while flipping a page. Your heart might as well have exploded at such praise.
“Oh--you think?” You asked, unable to keep your feet from pulling you closer to the peddler. Unable to stop yourself from pressing next to him to watch as he flipped through your work. “I thought they came out dulled.” He shook his head.
“I think you’ve given them more life than they truly hold.” You glanced up at him and found he was already watching you. Watching you with eyes that had you thoroughly disagreeing with him about. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Proposition?” You questioned, feeling the long sleeve of his kimono brush against your wrist as he turned yet another page, eyes having left yours and leaving you aching for them to return.
“I am here on business.”
“Business?” You parroted once more. What business did a medicine peddler have here in your small, out-of-the-way hometown besides selling his wares?
“Business…of a sort.” He sounded amused at his own statement. “I will allow you to follow me while I do it--keep creating such brilliant art--” Your breath caught in your throat at the thought of being allowed to follow him. At being allowed to create so openly and without judgment. “If you tell me all you know of the darkness residing in the well just at the edge of town.”
You knew of that well he spoke of. Everyone in town knew of the well, though none would dare speak of it and all the misfortunes it contained so openly.
Should you dare? Dare risk bringing its wrath down upon you and your household?
Those gold eyes found yours once more. Eyes your fingers itched painfully to capture over and over again. Eyes that looked at you in such a way none other had ever looked before.
He saw you. Fully.
“A young girl died there.” You started, a spark of utter delight flashing in his eyes as something gave a sharp click from within the crate he carried.
“Did she now?” He purred, leaning in ever closer to you. So close your breath turned heavy in your lungs. “Please, do tell me more.”