Painting the World in Colors of Life

Day 15

Prompt: “With the tip of his paintbrush, he soaked up one of my tears.”

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A thousand years ago a ghastly wizard snaked into my town. Worming his way into the throne, he became unlawful king over the kingdom once renowned for justice and peace. 

Darkness was wrenched into our lives and survival was a daily fight.

Our monies were snatched from our hands for his luxurious life, and people were collared in the dead of night to be slaves in his castle. Names were dissolved and we became merely known as peasants, workers for pleasure of the wizard. We lost our identity to his dastardly spells, fading into nothingness with each generation.

900 years ago I stood up to him. I faced him head on with a veracity unmatched in all the surrounding kingdoms. Everyone cowered in their thrones, praying they would not be the next town to be wiped nameless, forgotten to the sands of time, erased from history.

But I did not fear. 

I did not hesitate to bring the thunderous fury of my ancestors into his courtyard with a mighty roar. I may have been one, but I had a host of nameless spirits behind me yearning to be known once more.

My name chipped through the decay of his dreadful reign. 

I am Sophia.

It was a long battle. He fought with spells and incantations while I braved to bear my arms of spear and mace hallowed by the breath of my ancestors.

The ground shook. Volcanoes erupted. The sky wept.

But the throne would not be overthrown. 

It wasn’t enough that I alone claimed my name. It wasn’t enough that I was the sole contender against his nefarious imperium.

He writhed and squirmed, encircling me in a wretched enchantment. My arms grew flat. My legs contorted. The tree I was cornered in front of became the backdrop to my fate.

With a tendril of magic and a wisp of ill intent, I was etched into a canvas, locked within a painting. My eyes alone remained intact on the surface of the vile masterpiece so that, for generations to come, I could see the wizard sit upon his throne, molesting the world with his talons.

For 800 more years I endured the agony of watching nameless souls march through the corridors of the decrepit castle. I observed figures of kings and queens of old being reduced to a a forsaken state of existence, trapped within the walls of the kingdom of naught, stripped of their identities.

It wasn’t until after many dark and dusty days having been discarded in a heap in some storage room did the light of day finally shine into my eyes once more. It was a strange sight that the man who brushed the dust from my face had the colors of life in his own eyes. He appeared to be a person with an identity unscathed by the darkness of the wizard.

He didn’t say a word as he leaned me against the wall, setting me directly in a sunbeam. The world outside still seemed gray, but his eyes brought in a rainbow of relief.

His fingers ran across the frame of the canvas, sliding over a plaque she could never read. His eyes glinted as he lingered at the plaque.

“Sophia. The One Whose Name Faltered.” His gravelly voice bounced off the bare walls.

“Perhaps, my fair Sophia, you faltered for a moment, but you are far from being a failure.” He seemed to stare right into my soul, knowing my eyes could see the hope in his eyes.

He lifted my frame and buried me beneath a large tapestry. With a speed and determination as one driven by a dream, he rushed out of the storage room, through the corridors, and out into the courtyard. With a leap and a bound he hurdled the surrounding marble wall and weaved his way through the forest on the outskirts of the town.

It wasn’t for another long hour before my veil was removed and I saw for the first time an entire room filled with those same lively eyes. These were not the eyes of nameless souls bound to a fate of no identity, but rather of souls breaking free from their grayness and embracing a world of color. 

The room broke into anxious murmuring as her abductor rose to address them. “Friends, for generations we have been held hostage in the depths of a nameless existence. For generations we have seen the devious wizard fashion a dark world fill with gray-eyed slaves. Some have heard the legend of Sophia the Brave, casting it off as a tale told to us by our parents to keep us going. We chose to disbelieve a reality of hope and followed after a whisper of a dream out of reach.”

He hoisted my canvas up so everyone could see. Their eyes grew even more alive as they read my inscription.

“Friends, Sophia was real. She fought that wizard and was ensnared in this painting. But the light of her hope continued to spark the passion of generations to come.”

Setting me down, he silently made his way to a table with a small box. The man picked it up and pulled out a wooden stick with horse hair woven into the base. He returned to her with stick in hand.

“The color of life may have faded from our families and neighboring kingdoms, but today we will take back our names. We will reclaim our identities. We will destroy that wizard and bring color back to our people. My name is Homer, and I will bring life back to our lands.”

A woman in the back rose to her feet. “My name is Gwyn, and I will bring life back to our lands.”

One by one, the crowd stood and declared their names, daring to challenge the dark wizard and take hold of their identities for the sake of their homelands.

Hope swelled within me and my eyes began to tear, staining the canvas below. Rivulets of tears dripped down, smearing the paint. 

Homer approached and with the tip of his paintbrush, he soaked up one of my tears.

“It is not only the wizard who has power over words. When we discover who we are and claim our identities, we, too, can cast incantations that make an impact. He trapped you within this painting for centuries by the power of his words. We can liberate you, and together we can destroy that wizard, casting life into the world yet again.”

He kissed my abstract forehead and stepped back. “My name is Homer, and you are free.”

Gwyn placed her hand on his shoulder. “My name is Gwyn, and you are free.”

With each declaration and each reclamation of identity, my spirit was released from the clutches of the enchantment and I emerged into the room as the woman I was 900 years ago.

“My name is Sophia,” I said, scanning the room, “And we will break the reign of that wizard and speak life into our lands.”

- (c) 2020 Kevin Barrick