“It must be regal,” the Emperor said. “I want the world to see what I see when I look at her: beauty, grace, love, and nobility. A proud woman, the envy of the Empire. I have seen your work, master artist – only your hand could do her justice.”
“As you say, Majesty,” the artist said. “But may I suggest seven portraits instead of just one?”
The Emperor was intrigued. “Why?”
“One will show her on the throne in her full regalia – the golden crown on her auburn hair piled high, the ivory scepter in her firm grasp. She looks out across the throne room with pride and certainty. The set of her shoulders and her jaw reveal her strength of character and will.”
“Yes!” the Emperor said. “That is what I want.”
The artist went on. “Another will show her bending to comfort a poor blind man. He cradles the crushed body of his daughter as he sits by the broken wall of his home. Her lips brush his dirty forehead, and her tears mirror his as she reaches to hold him.
“The third will show the Empress rising from her bed. She is wrapped in a white silk robe with a red velvet lining, and she has caught it as it slips from her bare shoulders. A silver chain circles her neck, nearly covering a bruise, and she smiles seductively with crimson lips. Her free hand beckons with an iron key dangling from her wrist.”
The Emperor shifted in his chair. “Go on.”
“The fourth portrait shows her in polished steel armor, sword in hand as she treads the neck of a terrible serpent. Her head thrown back, she calls her warriors to battle and glory. Her sword points to the sunrise driving night from the sky, and the wind whips her hair past her face.”
“In the fifth, she leans through the open window of a common home and with a long pale arm seizes a young boy by the neck. Her fingernails are the color of dried blood. His parents are helpless and terrified, and she rejects his mother’s pleas with a cruel laugh. She holds a misericord, the point turned away from the boy.”
“A sixth portrait would show her kneeling in prayer to the goddess of the harvest. There is strength in her gaze as she implores the goddess’ kindness, but her tightly clasped hands betray her terrible fears. Just out of the firelight a rat crawls on a sack of grain.”
“And the seventh?” the Emperor asked.
“A mirror, her face but faintly etched in its surface,” the artist said.
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