Iris frowned, rattling the tincture. Not at all useful-one needed no great strength to wield a paintbrush.
She supposed she was never going to find that fishing rod, either. She frowned-she was sure she had looked for it, had wanted to find it, but couldn't even remember if she had bothered.
Of course...no one cared. It was a silly little off-hand comment that meant nothing and had no point. Just a bit of her own life-fragmenting like ash off a bonfire, if you were inclined to poetry. But she remembered. She had begun to wind down her career, before the curse ruined everything. She had taken less jobs for nobles and generals and barons and duchesses, and spent more time in her little blue schoolhouse-teaching a generation of young artists that would never grow up. Entire afternoons dipping her feet into the clear canals of Ariamis (her home), and just slinging a long oak rod and a silk line. Absolute peace. You wouldn't think it! No one would. She didn't even mind gutting the fish, which she cooked herself-Iris always enjoyed working with her hands. Of course that part of her life was over...and, like the rest of them...she had been reduced to a cliche. Iris wondered if her spirit was shackled in some way-if in some way she could no more act out of some logical sequence of events, marching toward the dying Gods with no free will-unthinking as a Hollow. No, she was sure you had some choice. But when the choice was non-existence...well, that wasn't a choice at all...
She knelt by the corpse, uncaring of the proximity, and stared off into the distance, over the misty waters where there probably weren't any fish anymore. Yes. She thought, there would be water in her new world. Clean and pure. But first she needed the right colors. Sun on the water. Had to be just right. Her mind circled back around to the potion in her hand. No doubt one of the others would be glad to relieve her of it-one of the meatheads. But the color...now that was useful...maybe she might keep it after all.