I Became My Son's First Love - Chapter 28

It felt as if someone had uncovered a secret hidden deep within her, a secret no one else knew. It made sense, considering the man in the painting was modeled after the black-haired man from her dreams.

After hearing about the man in her dreams, Rose had stayed up all night to paint the image. Of course, Eve hadn’t shared the full details of her dream with her. It wasn’t the kind of dream one could easily talk about.

All she’d said was something vague, like, “A black-haired man often appears in my dreams, and your landscapes would suit him well.” Despite the ambiguous description, the painting reminded her of the man from her dream.

As she gazed quietly at the painting, she could feel Azazel’s gaze on her, causing her to grow self-conscious. Though a bit tense, she didn’t entirely mind the situation, as focusing on the painting was not unpleasant. Before Azazel could speak, Eve decided to take the lead.

“Why do you think it’s a demon?”

“The mood of the painting suggests it, but don’t most people associate black hair with demons?”

He was right. In the empire, black hair was often viewed as demonic or a sign of misfortune. His words suddenly made her wonder if the figure in her dream could actually be a demon, a thought that hadn’t crossed her mind before.

It was amusing how naturally such ideas could arise, like the fairy tales about demons seducing maidens that all imperial citizens were familiar with.

“That’s true. But in this case, it’s more fitting to say he’s an incubus rather than a demon.”

“An incubus?”

Realizing her slip of the tongue, Eve quickly closed her mouth and smiled to cover it up.

“An incubus is still a type of demon, isn’t it?”

Their eyes met for a brief moment before Azazel pointed in another direction, his voice a little lower. “In fact, there’s another painting that’s quite similar.”

“A similar painting?”

What did he mean by “similar”? Her curiosity was piqued. Sensing this, Azazel explained smoothly.

“It’s a very old painting. Would you like to see it? It’s located deeper within the gallery. That painting also depicts a demon.”

To go where Azazel pointed, they would have to pass through a thick, dark purple curtain that separated the space. It seemed a bit risky to go alone with him.

Eve glanced back. Aeshath and the others were still far off, deeply engaged in conversation. As she hesitated, Azazel stepped forward, lifted the curtain, and glanced back at her.

“Rose was quite impressed by it. My mother is also very fond of the piece.”

In the end, curiosity pushed her forward. Besides, Aeshath wasn’t far away, and surely Azazel wouldn’t dare do anything inappropriate. Eve approached him, and Azazel smiled faintly, holding the curtain open a bit wider for her.

Inside, the space was much dimmer than outside, with only a soft, muted light illuminating the area. As soon as Azazel let go of the curtain, the surroundings grew even darker. It felt like a completely different world, separated by just a single piece of fabric.

Following Azazel’s gaze, Eve saw a painting that filled the entire wall. Azazel waited for her to take in the scene before speaking, “It’s called The Fallen Angel.”

The painting depicted a man standing alone, surrounded by a darkness even deeper than in Rose’s painting. His long black hair, which reached down to his ankles, whipped chaotically around his head, concealing his pale face so that only his lips were visible. Yet, despite this, the painting completely captivated Eve.

As the title suggested, the man looked like a fallen angel. His wings, gray and wide-spread, extended behind him, while beneath his bare feet lay a shimmering blue and silver thread and scattered white feathers. The vividness of the portrayal made it seem as though the scene might come to life at any moment. As Eve stared at the painting in a daze, Azazel added more context.

“It depicts an angel who has fallen into hell and become a demon.”

“…It’s remarkable.”

Eve was genuinely impressed. The rough brushstrokes conveyed the ferocity of the demon, but the sharp jawline and firmly set lips, partly obscured by the hair, hinted at solitude. The feather-like texture of the paint brought the wings to life. Without realizing it, Eve reached out toward the painting.

“The wings…”

Azazel gently caught her outstretched hand. Startled back to her senses, Eve looked at him in shock. The dim light made it difficult to see Azazel’s face clearly. As she stared at him in confusion, he released her hand.

“It seems you were enchanted by the painting, Eve.”

Eve clasped her captured wrist with her free hand, still feeling the warmth of Azazel’s large hand around her wrist, as though the heat hadn’t left. She tried her best to ignore the sensation.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why… I shouldn’t have done that.”

Touching the painting—what had she been thinking? She definitely wasn’t in her right mind. Without scolding her, Azazel turned back to the painting.

“People often say that demons have the power to enchant humans. And those humans never meet a good end.”

His voice carried a hint of regret. Before Eve could study his expression further, Azazel swiftly turned and walked toward another painting.

“There’s one more. This way.”

There was clearly something he wasn’t saying, but Eve kept quiet. They weren’t close enough for her to pry. Instead, she deliberately changed the subject in a calm tone.

“Was it painted by the same artist?”

“Yes, the subject is the same as well.”

In the next painting, the same man was holding a woman with long, flowing blonde hair in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, her body relaxed. The man’s hair covered the woman’s body and obscured her face, as though he didn’t want anyone else to see her. The man’s large frame and strong features contrasted with the woman’s delicate appearance, making it seem as though she had been forced into his embrace.

However, the soft way her blonde hair slipped through his fingers, the slight glimpse of his reddened ear, and the woman’s hand gripping the sleeve of his shirt gave the impression that they were lovers. Though there was no nudity, the painting exuded a decadent and sensual atmosphere.

“What’s the title of this one?”

“I don’t know,” Azazel replied curtly.

It would’ve been helpful to know the title to better understand the painting. Eve gazed at the way the figures’ hair intertwined and commented, “This painting has a different mood than the last one. What’s the artist’s name?”

“I don’t know that either. As I said, these paintings are quite old.”

So it was a piece by an unknown artist. Just then, Azazel posed a question.

“What do you think of the woman? Most people believe she’s someone who was seduced by the demon.”

At first glance, that seemed plausible. The man appeared strong and dominant, while the woman looked frail and delicate.

But Eve had a different interpretation.

“I think it’s the other way around. The woman seems to be the one doing the seducing.”

“What?” Azazel looked at her in surprise. Eve nodded toward the painting to clarify.

“The atmosphere is different. It’s warmer and gentler.”

She pointed to the man’s red ear and the woman’s hand gripping his sleeve.

“See, his ear is red, and she’s holding onto him tightly. I’d say the woman is seducing him, and the man is the one being seduced.”

Azazel gazed at the painting for a long moment before nodding heavily.

“…That’s one way to look at it.”

“It’s a shame their faces aren’t visible.”

Though demons are often depicted without faces, Eve found herself wondering what the demon’s expression might look like as he gazed at the woman he loved. What does a demon in love look like?

Azazel turned to Eve, seemingly surprised by her words. “You’re curious about the demon’s face?”

“Yes. As you said, if a demon is going to seduce someone, he should be beautiful, right?”

Eve deliberately gave a shallow, materialistic answer. Admitting she wanted to see the face of a demon in love was too sentimental, and she didn’t want the conversation to take that turn. But Azazel’s next words were even more unexpected.

“Doesn’t that woman resemble you?”

“What?”

Just like the man, the woman’s face wasn’t fully visible. But Azazel seemed to be measuring something with his thumb and forefinger as he continued, his tone serious, “Look at her ankle here, where it’s exposed. It’s as delicate as yours.”

Eve followed his gaze to the woman’s slender ankle peeking out from beneath her dress and furrowed her brows in disbelief.

“…Do you know how many people in the world have thin ankles?”

Azazel didn’t seem to hear her as he went on, awestruck. “Her wrists are slim, too. But she’s not weak—look at the way she’s gripping him. That’s just like you.”