The Midnight Melancholy

That Saturday afternoon, the museum was bustling with activity as the visitors, both young and old, flocked to see the exhibit. Sara stood at the entrance of the Museum of Revolutionary Art, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her neat navy blue dress. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing around at the throngs of visitors who filled the gallery with chatter and laughter. Her heart raced as she spotted a group of enthusiastic children pointing excitedly at a nearby sculpture, their voices rising above the ambient noise. Every time someone approached her, she felt a flutter in her stomach. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her palms were already becoming clammy. To distract herself, she brushed a stray blond hair behind her ear and practiced her welcoming smile in her mind. 

The Museum of Revolutionary Art was known for its impressive collection of contemporary artworks, but there was one painting that stood out among the rest. It was a mysterious piece, known only as "The Midnight Melancholy". Visitors would always be drawn to it, intrigued by its enigmatic beauty. 

Sara wiped her sweaty palms on her dwomanand smiled as an elderly woman marched towards her. "Hello Miss, could you direct me to "The Midnight Melancholy" please?" the woman asked, her voice gentle. "Sure," Sara replied with a smile. As they walked through the overflowing gallery, the elderly woman glanced around, her light grey eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Thank you, dear. It's lovely to see so many people appreciating art," she said, her voice warm and friendly. Sara nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yes, it’s wonderful! Have you visited the museum before?" The woman chuckled lightly. "Oh, many years ago. Back when I painted a little myself! I always had a soft spot for contemporary art. It’s so expressive." “That’s amazing!” Sara replied, genuinely intrigued. “Do you have a favorite artist from that time?” “Ah, I was quite fond of the abstract expressionists like Lisa Bloom and Drew Richmond. They really knew how to convey emotion,” the woman reminisced, her eyes twinkling. “But I’ve heard a lot about "The Midnight Melancholy". What can you tell me about it?” Sara smiled, happy to share. “It’s quite a fascinating piece of a beautiful woman. The artist captures a feeling of longing and introspection, which is why it draws so many people in. The use of the vibrant red color and shadows really adds to the mood. No one knew the artist behind the painting, and the curator of the museum had inherited it from a wealthy collector. There were rumors that the painting was cursed, that the woman in the painting was a real person who had been trapped inside by a vengeful and jealous lover. But no one took those stories seriously, they were just urban legends to add to the mystery of the painting.” The woman nodded, her interest piqued. “I can’t wait to see it! Do you think it’ll evoke any memories for me?” “Perhaps, fingers crossed!” Sara replied enthusiastically. “Art has a magical way of connecting us to our past. It might remind you of something beautiful.” As they approached the painting, the woman leaned in closer, her expression turning contemplative. “You know, dear, you’ve got a good knack for this. You should definitely keep being a docent.” Sara blushed slightly, “Thank you! I hope to share many more stories about the art here.” They both stood before "The Midnight Melancholy," and the elderly woman sighed contentedly. “Ah, here it is. Just as I imagined. Thank you for guiding me, dear. This is going to be a lovely afternoon.” “Enjoy!” Sara said, feeling her nerves fade away as she watched the woman lose herself in the painting.

She stared at 'The Midnight Melancholy' too, unable to resist its charm. "Quite captivating, right?" Both women turned to see a frail young girl dressed in a worn out black chiffon creased dress. "I'm Seraphina, the art student who's been chosen to stay at the musuem after hours for my project," she addressed to Sara. "Yes, I've been informed about your arrival. Though you're quite early, the musuem with close at 8 p.m." Seraphina nodded. "I know, I like being here," she replied curtly.

Seraphina moved closer to the painting, her hazel eyes examining the details, trying to decipher its secrets.

The Midnight Melancholy painting depicted a fair woman in a flowing red dress, standing under a canopy of stars, a white rose in her delicate right hand. She had long, dark hair that cascaded down her back, and her emerald green eyes seemed to follow anyone who gazed upon her. The colors of the painting were muted during the day, but at night, it seemed to come alive, the stars twinkling and the woman's dress glowing in vibrant shades of red. 

Some hours later on that particular Saturday, heavy rain poured outside, making the visitors leave and leading to an earlier closure of the museum. Sara and that lady left together, both engrossed in deep conversation. Seraphina felt lucky to finally experience being alone with her favorite painting. She didn't mind the change from warm, full of life to the eerie cold atmosphere that reigned.

As the clock struck midnight, she noticed something strange; the painting began to change. The colors became even more vibrant and the stars seemed to twinkle brighter. The woman's huge green eyes seemed to have a soft mischievous glint in them, as if she was aware of Seraphina's presence. Seraphina couldn't believe her eyes, she thought it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. But as she continued to watch, the woman in the painting seemed to come to life. She stepped out of the frame and into the museum, beckoning Seraphina to follow her.

Unable to resist the mysterious woman's allure, Seraphina followed her through the dark corridors of the museum. The woman led her to a room filled with paintings, each one more beautiful than the last. They were all different from the ones displayed in the museum, as if they belonged to a secret collection. 

Seraphina stepped cautiously into the dimly lit room, her heart racing with excitement and trepidation. The woman from the painting stood before her, ethereal and radiant, her flowing red dress shimmering in the soft light. “Welcome, Seraphina, I'm Rosalia,” the tall enchanting woman said, her voice melodic and soothing. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Seraphina blinked, still trying to process what was happening. “You… you can talk?” The woman smiled, a hint of mischief in her emerald eyes. “Indeed. I’ve been trapped within that frame for too long, longing for someone who appreciates art as much as I do. And you, my dear, are special.” “Special? I’m just an art student,” Seraphina replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean?” “You see, art is not just about colors and canvas. It’s a connection, a feeling. You have a passion for it, a spark that ignites the very essence of creation,” the woman explained, her gaze piercing into Seraphina’s soul. "Back in 1920, I inspired to be an artist too but I was from a poor family. My sick elderly parents could barely afford to bring food on the table, let alone art materials. I worked as a bar singer to make ends meets. That's how I met Lucas," she gave Seraphina a quick glance, then continued. "He was rich, handsome and charming painter. He loved me dearly. But over time, he got jealous when other men praised my beauty. With each praise I receive, his jealousy increased. He wanted me for himself." Seraphina was all ears by her story. "You know the rumors are mostly accurate. My lover did stab me to death."

Rosalia's voice trembled as she recalled the haunting memory, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It was a night just like this, under the heavy cloak of darkness. The moon hung low, casting an eerie light through the windows of Lucas's grand mansion. The air was thick with tension as I sang my heart out, hoping to ease his growing insecurities. But instead of solace, jealousy brewed within him, consuming his thoughts like a raging fire.” Seraphina felt a chill run down her spine, captivated by Rosalia’s tale. “What happened next?” she prompted, her voice barely a whisper. Rosalia sighed, her expression clouded by sorrow. “As I finished my song, I could see his gaze shift from admiration to something darker. He approached me, his handsome face twisted with rage. ‘You think you’re so beautiful, don’t you?’ he spat, his voice dripping with venom. ‘No man will have you but me!’” The young girl shivered, her heart pounding in her chest. “He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else admiring me, and in that moment, I realized the depth of his obsession.” Rosalia’s voice dropped to a haunting whisper, “In a fit of madness, he lunged at me, a glint of a knife catching the light. I barely had time to react. The blade pierced through my heart, and in my final moments, I could see the horror in his eyes as he realized what he’d done. It was too late for both of us.” Seraphina gasped, her imagination painting a vivid picture of the tragic scene. “And then he… painted you?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “Yes,” Rosalia continued, her gaze distant as if she were lost in the memory. “Driven by a twisted love, he took my blood and mixed it with the red paint. He wanted to capture my beauty forever, to possess it in a way that no other man could. He believed that by immortalizing me on canvas, he could keep me from ever being admired by anyone else. It was his way of holding onto a love that had turned into a cage.” The room seemed to darken as Rosalia spoke, the shadows of the past wrapping around them like a shroud. “But in doing so, he trapped my spirit within that frame, and I’ve been waiting ever since for someone like you to understand the true essence of art and beauty.” Seraphina, now overwhelmed with emotion, felt a deep connection to Rosalia’s story. “I never imagined that art could hold such pain and longing,” she murmured, her heart aching for the tragic figure before her. “You deserve to be free.” Rosalia smiled, a hint of hope sparking in her emerald eyes. “I can't break the chains of jealousy and obsession that bind me to that canvas. You understand my plight, don’t you? The yearning to be free, to express oneself beyond the confines of the canvas.” Seraphina nodded slowly, feeling an unexpected kinship with the woman. “I do. I often feel stifled; like there’s so much more I want to create, but I’m afraid it won’t be good enough.” The woman stepped closer, her presence warm and inviting. “Fear is a thief of creativity, my dear. You must embrace the unknown and let your heart guide you. Look around you—these paintings are manifestations of dreams, of emotions that have been set free. You have that power within you, too.” “I’ve always wanted to paint something that truly moves people. I want to make them feel,” Seraphina confessed, her eyes glistening with hope. The woman nodded in understanding. “Then let go of your doubts. Create without fear, and you will find your voice. Art can transcend time and space, just as I have crossed from my world to yours. Every brushstroke carries a piece of your soul.” Seraphina felt a surge of inspiration coursing through her. “But how do I find that courage?” “By believing in yourself, just as I believe in you. Remember, every artist has their struggles, but it’s the journey that shapes us. Now, close your eyes,” the woman instructed gently. “Imagine the colors, the feelings you want to express. Let it flow.” Seraphina closed her eyes, letting the visions dance in her mind. She could see vibrant hues swirling together, the laughter of joy, the tears of sorrow—a tapestry of emotions waiting to be unleashed. “Now open your eyes,” the woman said softly. Seraphina did, and the room seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. “I—I see it! I can feel the energy!” “Good. Now take that feeling back with you. You have a world to create,” the woman said, her voice fading softly as she stepped back toward the painting. “Wait! Don’t go!” Seraphina cried, a sense of urgency gripping her heart. The woman turned, her smile both wistful and encouraging. “I am always here, within the art, within your heart. When you paint, remember our conversation. You will never be alone.” With that, the woman stepped back into the painting, her figure merging seamlessly with the canvas. The colors swirled and settled, leaving Seraphina standing alone in the room. As she gazed at "The Midnight Melancholy," she felt a renewed sense of purpose igniting within her. The painting, once a mystery, now held a piece of her own spirit—a reminder to embrace her creativity and let her heart sing.