The Oil Stain

The commission was an honor—an elegant, regal gesture from Her Majesty, the Queen herself! To set upon a canvas and capture her clean, shimmering, opulent essence—-oh how I trembled as I bowed, accepting the task in front of the royal court. 

I worked—I pained! It’s near impossible even to describe the pure exhaustion I had bearing the weight of my vow to craft such a masterpiece worthy of the throne—-it nearly cursed me. I mixed the finest pigments derived from ochre and umber for her porcelain skin. Azurite—the finest hue of blue for the dancing glints of her eyes. And the canvas—immaculate linen I hand-stretched across fine birch planks. 

At the dim light burning from the candle, I worked through day to night. I wish the Queen could see how wisely—how skillfully I have proceeded with the portrait. No one could display pure knowledge of their craft more than me. No artists would disregard their own sleep over shaping a masterpiece such as mine! My hand, steadier than a surgeon, takes an hour to even paint one strand of her silky bronze hair! No artist could care for their work such as me! 

I find myself scarcely even taking a breath when I set the brush upon the canvas, no mistake will come from my hands. As I place her image upon the canvas I step back in marvelous strides to look upon the majesty’s beauty that I have seized and displayed in vibrant colors—her vermillion gown, cerulean jewels, and precious stones loose around her collar bones. The largeness of the painting makes her look the size of her grand status! I painted her eyes as if I placed the real things upon the linen—she looked at me like I could see my face inside the reflection; so vivid and real one could think she might begin to blink. 

As each night passes, her eyes become increasingly striking and nearly changing with expression. Still, I paint her, now with even more caution not to deface her beauty! I even began covering her face with a cloth so I could avoid her stare—though her gaze seemed to burn through; gawking at me behind the cloth with a knowing expression. What have I painted to be a defilement when I have painted her so resplendently?

As I stepped back once more, my eyes traced and followed every line in the frame—have I made her complexion too fair? Have I disgraced the shine of her jewels by making them too dull? I paced quickly—-the speed of my steps steadily increasing as her eyes grew narrower, disgusted at my confusion. I grasped at the hair upon my head, moving my vision from one corner of the canvas to the next, and there—an oil stain! A blotch upon the Queen's gown. An artist as clever as me no need to worry! I dipped my brush into the ground vermillion and dabbed the bristles onto the canvas. A layer of paint and the stain had begun to feel like a small pebble I kicked out of the road—gone and out of my mind. 

I continued the soft strokes of the Queen's elegant features—the curve of her nose and the pillowiness to her rose-kissed cheeks. The dip of her lips and even the curl of her eyelashes—her eyes—once again her eyes. They are unblinking yet somehow look as if they move across the canvas, watching me, continuously following me. Had I truly painted them so vividly they have begun to move? I step back from the painting, gazing upon the Queen in all her defined and dignified beauty—-yet I begin to feel myself become ridden with the rush of a pacing heart as my eyes catch something in the lower corner of the canvas. The stain! It did not become covered by layers of paint—-but it seemingly has only grown in size; swelling underneath the thick layers of pigment—defying my efforts to rid of it! I scraped at my palette with my knife and scrubbed into the fabric of the canvas and I watched the stain as it seeped through yet again! My worry grew stronger, grasping at my lungs as I gasped for air each time the stain resurfaced! 

I scratch away the paint and push my brush even harder to the canvas—till the bristles sprawl across the blotch—but still! It lingers! Like a shadow lurking beneath the colors. I held the candle close, possibly giving thought to the idea that it might just be a trick of the night—-but it’s only gotten bigger! It’s growing right before my eyes! So large, so unavoidably large! Grotesque! 

I fell back at the sight! The candle, still aflame, rolled across the hardwood to the foot of the painting, lighting her majesty in shifting shadows dancing across her face. Her eyes—she looks at me with dishonor and loathing so revolting a gag crawls up the walls of my body. Your majesty! I would never deface you so blatantly! I seemingly plead but her expression remains unchanged—-peering down as if I was an insect in her food!

I pace back and forth as I feel myself turn pale with fear—from humiliation. The stain grows even larger, oozing across the fibers of the fabric and dripping to the ground! I wipe it away, even using my own clothes to soak what’s trickled to the floor! I paint another layer, and another, and another—-but it’s spread even further! 

I rub a cloth across it but the fabric begins to fray while the stain shifts and moves and moves and won’t wash away. I smoosh my fingers into the palette beside me and rub the blot away. I pick at the stains, digging and raking the layers of paint to remove this sickening soil! It festers amongst the gorgeous color of the gown—-there’s even a hum to its greasy movement! It’s like an ornate grating of iron, sharply scratching at my ears! It’s as if I can smell it. The rancid stench of the oil!

I spent nights—-days! Digging and scraping. Clawing and scrubbing! I dug my fingers into the canvas for so long—-the oil touched my flesh; snuck its way into my pores! It’s moving throughout me—-underneath the taut layers of my body and even inside my canines. It’s touching all of me. I shy away! Turning my hands away from my vision—-avoiding the echoing spread of its rooted nature! 

Then—-a whisper. A short sharp breath curls around my ear. 

It calls to me—a voice faint and small like the drip of water falling down a deep well—slow and thick, nearly insidious. I lift my head to her majesty’s face but it is not her that speaks to me. The oil stain morphs before my very eyes. I can see it—lips and a mouth, with eyes peering back at me! It smiles—it frowns—it laughs! I grasp my heart, feeling it pound against the walls of my body. The blotch—-it mutters in tongues as if the words are spilling across its mouth.

The Queen! The Queen! The Queen! It taunts me! I look up to her majesty, her eyes pierce through me—crazed with anger, hollow with hate, burning holes into my flesh! 

Evil! Foul woman! The stain shouts—-it moves across the painting, crawling its way up to her majesty's face. It scowls as it reaches her head-—Evil! It cries as it drips down and across the Queen’s painted skin—Yes! It must be true! The Queen—the devil herself! She did this. I know! She stained my masterpiece—she defaced my work—ruined my craft! That is why she has look to me with such revolting expressions---with eyes of pure disgust!

Yes! Yes! The oil stain screams and mocks my revelation—my horror! To think that I could paint such a hideous beast’s portrait. She dare not dream of seeing this oily, inky blot consume this painting nor my skin. She wants the wretched, wet, greasy smudge to destroy me! An artist as clever—as talented would not let such an act taint my reputation! 

Tear the Queen down! I swore! I claw at Her Majesty’s devilish eyes, scraping my fingers across the canvas! Ripping apart the fabric with my teeth—gnawing at the Queen’s wicked expression! And still, the oil stain taunts me! The devil! The devil! She is watching you! It says! She's making a mockery of my agony! My screams ring across the palace walls! Hear me! The Queen is a devilish beast! The stain grows louder! The Queen’s stare still follows me! The stain still moves within me! It's choking my insides like an animal’s teeth digging into its prey—it pushes and strikes the walls of my body! I can feel it in the folds of my brain—I scream! 

The door creaks open! There—!

“Guards! Guards!” I lift my hands to their faces! “I’ve seen it! In those vague visions stained upon the canvas—-the Queen is heinous! Rip the painting apart! Rip this oil stain from my flesh! And kill the evil beast!"