Prodigy - Finale

August, 1906:

It’s been almost twenty long years with my darling daughter by my side, and although Death is waiting for me at the door between this world and the next, my daughter will remember me as more than just a painter. She will remember me for the way that I kept her father and grandfather alive.

As soon as she could sit upright, she began to paint. Unlike my father and I’s work, her paintings were full of color and a deep love of life; just like Vincent’s. She was his perfect copy after all; the only remaining vessel of a genius’ blood, and the sole heir to the Friedrich empire.

By the time she could walk, we practiced digging holes around our house. It was like a game, and she loved every moment of it. Before I knew it, her art was rivaling my own, just as I had done to my own father. At long last, I finally understood the mixture of pride and sadness in his eyes. Her paintings were a perfect mixture of isolation and wonder, just as she herself was.

I never hid anything from her, and while I don’t know if that was the right way to raise a child, I didn’t want the truth of her family to come as a shock to her when it inevitably came to light. I told her that I had, completely by accident, killed her father; just as my father had done before me. The Friedrich curse I called it, and she learned to greet it by name.

As soon as she was old enough, she began scouting art shows with me. She observed intently as I wined and dined the most promising of new artists and, once they were good and drunk, spilled their blood as effortlessly as leaves fall from the trees.

But now, as the hour of my death fast approaches, I wonder if I have prepared her sufficiently for what is to come. I wonder if my father felt the same way before he took Death’s icy hand. How dreadful it is to expect a young woman to lose the only family she has ever known and keep their name from being forgotten by history in the same breath.

Is she ready? Can she handle the loss that she will undoubtedly face, both of her mother and the love that she will someday find? I find myself begging for more time to prepare her, though I think that no amount of time will ever be enough. I suppose I must trust that she knows what she is doing, or that she’ll figure it out.

The only thing I know for certain is that the world is changing, and she will have to get creative.

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Author’s note:

Thank you so much for joining me through this story, although this world has come to an end, it was a wonderful journey.

Image: Moonrise on the Seashore by Caspar David Friedrich