Vermilion, titanium white, violet, ultramarine, rose, light green...
In an instant, it was as though a kaleidoscope had shattered, brilliant colors spilling forth like a waterfall and swallowing Huai Shi whole. After that torrent passed, everything became different.
The earth was black, the walls pale, and the vaulted ceiling stretched high beyond sight.
The air was thick with the pungent smells of oils and pigments, yet when those countless scents mingled together, they formed a faint, ever-changing fragrance.
And rising from the ground were towering easels.
Covered in wet cloth.
The floor was littered with remnants of every color and the leftovers of work.
This was a...
"Studio?" Huai Shi raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, yes, my workspace."
Sitting atop a high stool, Giselle wore a linen work smock stained with remnants of every color. She looked at Huai Shi. "Just one of the Doomsday Painter's tricks... What do you think?"
"Very nice. Being able to enter your working environment anytime, anywhere—you must really love painting."
Huai Shi answered approvingly.
"Unfortunately, art does not favor me alone. Sometimes, it is far too stingy. So I cannot really say whether I love it or hate it.
"Let us call it half and half."
Giselle sighed helplessly. "They say all arts are connected, but honestly, I cannot bring myself to like music at all. To be precise, I hate music."
"I like quiet. I need quiet. Only quiet lets me relax, Mr. Huai Shi," Giselle said. "No matter how pleasant a melody may be, when I am working, it only sounds noisy and irritating."
"I understand." Huai Shi spread his hands indifferently. "Everyone has their own preferences. You cannot force this sort of thing."
"Yes, it is such a simple principle, but Francisco simply cannot understand it."
Giselle sighed in exasperation. "That guy