In a prosperous village, believed to have been Delport, many thriving families
faired. The only residences were of the Merian race who often went swimming in
the sea, but despite, many different mixes of races came to visit the town to
buy, sell, and trade goods, often speaking of their own cultures and teaching
the languages of their own tongues.

While the city was peaceful and prosperous, there were many traditions that
would seem odd to some in the newest day and age. One of those traditions,
which is the catalyst to this spinning tale, is that the village had no mirrors
or surfaces that were too reflective. It was believed that one must always trust
in their own instincts and take their own view of beauty and not others into
consideration. Humility was often practiced, as well as trust among peers.
Artists did not have a place in the village.

But, do not mistake this for brash words and unkind thoughts. Indeed, the
villagers were polite to one another and to outsiders. Opinions on someone
else's looks were not often, if ever, spoken about; there were more important
matters to attend to than the focus on physical beauty.

There was a young daughter of a somewhat wealthy merchant, by the name of
Marii. Being an only child she was often lavished in gifts and love, but still
she grew to be quite charming and honest. Although not the most beautiful
Merian in the village or the most intelligent, her charm captivated others and
often tricked them into seeing a certain inner beauty within her. Witty banter
and a soft laugh was enough for her to be able to find suitors who pleased her
father.

However, there was a disruption in this peaceful life. While attending a
luncheon with people from the outside, she was ignored among the talk and
conversation. There was an Elfen who chattered away, and a Faeling who
continued to flutter her wings happily in her seat, ever-smiling with her
small, Elfen-like face. At being ignored, questions were raised from young
Marii. Another Merian sat at the table, not much older than Marii, but old
enough to be a wife. While Marii could not see or notice the differences
between them physically, she soon found out it was more than just the attention
the Elfen was giving.

Marii turned to the Elfen, whose skin glowed as if she had bathed in a bath of
milk and moonlight in the gentle summer sunlight, as Marii could not help but
notice. She asked, "Why do you speak to my friend Irua and not my self? I never
claimed to be intelligent, but I have wit and charm and as you are a guest in
our fair village, deserve the same amount of respect and attention as any other
villager."

The beautiful Elfen looked at her with her shimmering green eyes and long
eyelashes. The soft curve of her lip drooped into a pout, giving her a slight
wrinkle between the eyebrows.

"I did not know I was doing that," she said coolly, speaking in fluent Merian
tongue. The Faeling beside her laughed happily and piped, "She thinks you're
ugly!" Her laughter quickly subsided as the Elfen glared at her, then turned to
look at Marii with a dramatic, apologetic sigh.

"I find it... difficult to look at you," she continued, turning her eyes away.
"Irua here is a fine specimen of a Merian. She has intelligence and grace that
you seem to lack." The Elfen's hands moved in graceful arches as she outlined
the forms of Irua as she described them. "The curve of her next flows so
beautifully against her shoulders, and it mimics the slender waistline she has,
one which I can't help but feel jealous. And the dark blue of her lips and eyes!
How gorgeous. I am a creature to define and appreciate the beauty in others. Her
skin is so royal blue, as if she had bathed in the sea, whereas yours is a plain
blue-green that seems to suggest you are sick often. While I don't think you're
ugly," she shot a glance at the Faeling, who blushed, her wings fluttering with
embarrassment. "I do think you are quite plain and I have no interest in that.
You've a charm around you, but that can't hardly make up for the lack of
physical beauty you possess."

As the Elfen continued, Marii was stunned. She had no concept of beauty or
what was ugly and what was not. But, at hearing the Elfen's words, she came to
understand that she was not a creature of beauty, even with her witty
conversation and elegant charm.

Marii rose and excused herself, saving herself from further embarrassment. The
Elfen looked coolly after her, and Irua blushed, sighed, and rose to meet Marii,
but Marii had dashed off as soon as she was out of sight. Large, steaming tears
rolled down her cheeks as she ran into her own house, winded from the run home
but not nearly exhausted enough to fall into a deep slumber.

Locking herself in her tower, she sobbed out the window, gazing at everyone
else, wondering. "Is she more lovely than I? Is she? Is she less? What am I to
do?"

Her father heard these questions and the sobs of distraught, and being
distressed at what to do, he hurried to find someone who could help.

He traveled outside the village for almost an entire month, in search of an
answer. A mirror would never work, he concluded. Maybe a pretty dress? A
husband? A jester, to comment on how flattering she was and how everyone else
was dull in comparison? He had never took note that his daughter was plain; she
was his, and that was what mattered to him. She looked so little like her
mother, but she possessed almost every ounce of her personality, and he missed
his dear wife. He would do anything to make his daughter happy again.

The merchant was suddenly tossed from his warm daydreams of his daughter's
happiness and back into the world with a cold shiver. His carriage was being
stopped much too soon. Bandits! He thought with dread, but then the merry sound
of song came in from the carriage window. Not the song of death, but a song of
friendship and security.

Peaking his head out from the window, he saw a line of artisans. One young
Merian â€" how it was nice to see a Merian on these travels! â€" had approached
the carriage driver and seemed to be begging him.

"You, young Merian boy," the merchant called. The boy turned his wide blue
eyes to the merchant, smiled handsomely, and approached him.

"What's going on?" asked the merchant. "Why have you stopped my journey?"

"We are offering our services. It seems some of my friends will not let you
pass unless we receive a job and some coin."

The merchant inspected the boy further. The tall stature, the wide chest. He
was just blossoming into manhood, while still being slender and lithe.

"What is that in your hand? A paintbrush?"

The boy looked at his hand at the plain paint-stained paintbrush, then back to
the merchant, nodding.

"I am an artist, m'good sir!" he said, bowing fluently and dramatically.

"What sort of artist? Do you do sculptures?"

"I can, but my favorite is the art of the paint and canvas. I can paint
anything however you want! I can paint the sky on dogs, the rolling clouds of a
thunderstorm, the shadow on a candle wick, or clouds in the shape of animals, or
â€""

The merchant stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Hush, I understand. Get
into my carriage." He unlatched the door and let the boy in, who looked
guiltily back at his friends. Leaning forward, the merchant hissed excitedly to
his driver, "Back to my daughter, I think I have a solution to end her misery!"

On the way back to the town, the merchant explained to the boy about his
daughter and how he was looking for a solution.

"You will paint my daughter, and you will make her beautiful to the eye.
Anything you need you shall receive, as well as a handsome payment. When the
commission is over, I will return you to your friends." He paused, looking the
Merian-boy up and down. "If you want, that is."

With hardly a word the boy agreed, but then explained what things he would
need.

As the father came back, he coaxed his daughter to let the strange artist-boy
in and to allow him to paint her. At first she put up a fuss.

"If he sees me, will he refuse to speak to me and make me cry again? If he
sees me, will he not be repulsed? How can I trust him, Father, how!"

After gentle coaxing, love, and patience, the daughter opened her door and
allowed the artist-boy in with his equipment. A master's palette, a paintbrush,
a bottle of water, and a blank canvas.

She turned from him, hiding her face beneath a black veil.

"I am ugly," she declared as he closed the door.

"I'm sure you are beautiful," said the boy, smiling his handsome smile.

"You can't see me, you don't know. I'm just young and stupid and now I'm
ugly."

"Remove the veil and I will tell you if you're ugly or not. I will paint you
as I see you, and then you can tell me if you think I think you're ugly."

With a frustrated sigh, she removed the veil. Her translucent fin rose and
spanned down the length of her spine as is custom of the Merian race. Slowly
she turned to face him, her face still wet from crying. The boy seemed taken
aback for a moment, before composing himself. He began to set his canvas up in
the dusky light.

"Ah, lass, you are a pretty thing. Whoever told you otherwise? Come, trust me.
I am an artist; I have the true eye to tell what is beautiful and what is not.
Now before the sun sinks, let's begin the process."

Every day he drew her and painted her at sunset, in front of her window. It
was in a tall tower that overlooked the rest of the village. He had her sit on
her windowsill, leaning against and almost outside of it, one hand reaching as
if awaiting a bird to come and land on her, her feet dangling from the sill
with a certain grace of the hips and ankles.

At last, just as the fall was beginning to arrive and the summer end, the boy
finished the portrait. He had not allowed young Marii to look at it, for fear
she would not like the beginning results, but soon he was ready to display it.

He decided the precise time, setting the covered canvas up beside the window,
sitting her on the sill for her to look and mimic the actions.

He removed the film, to display the portrait of her. Marii gasped with
pleasure and pride, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Although the Merian in the portrait did look like Marii, rather plain, but
still strong and with womanly curves, the portrait was painted with such
detailed colors that Marii seemed lost in them. The curve of her arm, that was
beautiful. The color of her fins, those were beautiful. Her lip pouted gently
and her chin curved into her neck with a graceful arch, which also mimicked the
arch on her lower back and ankle-to-heel. She did not look old, nor did she look
young; the artist-boy had captured her in her growing state as she had developed
over the months he painted her.

She noticed how he used the shadows to enhance her eyes and the startling
contrast of her blue-green skin against the red-orange sky in the back, her
hand reaching out delicately, her eyes straining to see if a bird would land
upon her waiting fingers.

She turned to the boy, finally understanding that her beauty was not within
her complexion, but within her aura.

"It's true," the boy said, as if reading her mind. "You are beautiful to most.
Shallow people will only see the plainness in you; ignore them, for they are
critical on everyone but themselves. They don't deserve to look upon or capture
such magnificent beauty."

At this, the girl rushed to the artist-boy, placing her lips to his in a thank
you kiss. He gently accepted her, and then moved to place the sheet over the
canvas again.

"I would like to show your father," he said with a slightly sad touch to his
deepening voice.

They brought the canvas down the stairs together, setting it down carefully in
the parlor where her father was sat. Upon removing the sheet, Marii saw her
father's eyes dart between the portrait and her, before sticking to the
portrait itself.

"It looks just as her mother did," he murmured, eyes wide. With a rolling
laugh and a lurch at the boy to embrace him, he said, "You have made my dearest
daughter happy again! I knew you would, for she did not cry once while you were
within our household. For that, I grant you this..." her father moved to a box
that had been sitting on the side table, picking it up with his large fingers
and presenting it to the boy, who accepted it.

The boy said, "It is, indeed, my greatest work. I just wonder what you have
planned for it?" He did not open the box.

The merchant rubbed his chin. "There are so few pieces of art within our
village. I don't see why we don't allow our ever-growing Lord to lay eyes upon
it and see if he would like to place it anywhere ... significant." His eyes
turned to his daughter, his features softening at her glowing smile.

The boy smiled and nodded, obviously pleased. That is when his attention
turned to the box. He opened it, and saw within it a golden paintbrush. The
handle was made of delicate blonde wood, the bristles made of fine golden
hairs. Platinum bounded it together, making it a magnificent piece of work. A
short gasp of elation was the small sound he made, picking the paintbrush up
and balancing it in his fingers.

"It is so light!" he said. His fingers touched the soft bristles, so light
that Marii could not see if he was touching them for sure or not.

The artist-boy turned his face back to the painting, then rummaged in his sack
for his palette. He greated a golden tint and dipped his brush in it, leaning
down and signing his name on the bottom edge of the portrait.

"It works so well... wherever did you find this?"

"I had it made. My daughter's happiness could never be covered with a pretty
thing or a cost... but you have my gratitude for it."

They stood around the parlor and smiled at each other, the painting glowing in
the bright fall sun.

~*~
It is then rumored that the painting was indeed given to the Lord, who found
the painting so magnificent that he built a museum of sorts to place it, and
also other paintings. Marii and the artist-boy were soon wed and her father
prospered, especially since most of his customers came to him in pleading,
asking if the artist-boy would do more commissions.

Although Marii was not as beautiful as her friend Irua, she had a portrait
finished in tribute to her. This did not add one ounce of arrogance to Marii,
and not a bit of jealousy for Irua. The Elfen who so cruelly criticized Marii
found herself taken by the portrait. Some say the portrait was too beautiful
for her, and she clawed her eyes out in shame at the world around her, not
wishing to see the ugliness and mundane comparison of the world around her.
Others say she grew old and ugly upon laying her eyes on the portrait, and in
shame of her appearance, fled from known beings in shame to live in the
forests.

It was said that the golden paintbrush that the artist-boy used to sign his
name of his captivating portrait was eventually lost among more valuables,
until one day it was uncovered by a young tradesman, who created replicas of it
in change for coin. A well-sought and expensive item, the tradesman made a trade
of it to make such valuables, and can be found if one is willing to look.