MY SKIES ARE TURNING GREY

Catalina's sapphires widened considerably when he complimented her on her drawings. She had never allowed someone to see them before nor comment on them. She heard the sincerity in his words and let a small smirk of satisfaction run across her full lips. She tilted her head to the side as he spoke of other artists. She had seen many beautiful things in her life and she had thought herself to be quite mediocre compared to the skilled and obsessive Artists that walked the streets aimlessly. Softly, with an air of sadness, she murmured, "I appreciate your compliments, Sterling, but my parents would highly disapprove of me doing something so unladylike for a profession. I do not even understand why I continue the practice when they abhor it so strongly." That wasn't all they had said on the matter. Her mother had told her that it was a waste of a human being to want to waste one's life away to draw things that had no meaning to anyone else. Catalina knew very well that her mother just didn't understand. How could she?

Giving her little smirk when she noticed him practically jut his hand towards her in an attempt to shake her hand, Catalina's eyes shot back up to his, her thick black lashes fluttering softly. Slowly, she reached forward and allowed her hand to become lost in the strength and security of his own. Her heart fluttered violently as her fingers felt the smooth skin of his wrist, the roughness of them insisting that he was quite good at working with his hands. The simple thought of that sent a chill down her spine, but she remained completely poised, no sign of her desire on her face at all. She had never really been good at portraying any sort of smile or laugh, so she hoped that the slight sparkling to her eyes would suffice.

Blinking rapidly when she noticed him shiver, she raised an elegant eyebrow but said nothing. At his question of Beauxbatons, Catalina shrugged absently. She had never inquire of her mother where she had gotten the spells, but she had always assumed that she had acquired them at the French school. As her eyes clouded over with reminiscence, she murmured in her velvety voice, "To be quite honest, Mother never told me where she learned of them. I could only assume . . . but assumptions are not proven facts. I suppose it would be unwise to believe something of such a caliber when it does not have any information save for conjecture holding it in place." When he told her that she could borrow the book, she smirked again, a slight joy coming over her features. He was sweet to allow a stranger to take something he probably enjoyed immensely to her own home and softly whispered, "I promise you that I will take great care of it, Sterling."

Sterling suddenly felt as if he were imposing on secrets he was unwelcome to. He, however, persisted on the promise of again seeing Catalina. Sterling debated naturally, and therefore responded dreamily to her statement, on instinct. "Ah, but all fact can trace its heritage back to a far-fetched conjecture. Without the foundation of assumption, no knowledge can be gained."

Sterling nodded at the intensity of her promise. He loved the book, and would trust no other than Catalina with it. He doubted he would allow his own mother to lay hands on it if she wanted to take it out of his sight... but Sterling had no trouble sacrificing anything and everything to make Cat happy.

Suddenly, a word spoken from Catalina's mouth jerked him out of his trance-like state and into alertness.

Ladylike. The particular word struck Sterling with considerable force, and he allowed a shocked and slightly revolted look to cross his face. Since when had drawing been considered an unladylike activity? As far as he was concerned, that word connoted one of two things: blatant swearing and profane behavior, or flagrant sexism. In brief reflection of various famous art exhibits in France (most notably, The Louvre) he quickly determined that the notion of the common Frenchman having an aversion to art was simply ludicrous. He was relatively sure there were no suffragist movements necessary in France, either, and that women had enjoyed equal rights in France for over seventy years. Why, then, would Catalina use a term such as "ladylike" in such vulgar context?

Based on her use of the term, he could easily guess that any occupation or pass-time that didn't include housework would be considered an equal waste of time. It left a horrid taste in his mouth to consider. Sterling, bolder than he had ever been in his living memory (besides the time he defended his little sister from taunts by her classmates) began speaking slightly faster than he could think. "Well, I would suppose that you continue to do so because you enjoy it! What other reasons are there to do... well anything?" he was already formulating counterexamples in his head, but shoved them out of his mind. The point he was making was delivered by passion, rather than logic; as everything else he ever said was. "And it's not a waste of a life! Think of the condition society would currently be in without the artistry of Sistine Chapel? The Apotheosis of Washington? The Statue of Zeus at Olympia? The Vitruvian Man? The Screamer? The Mona Lisa!" he said, much quieter than they had previously been speaking. As his heart opened, he spoke with a quiet intensity that he hoped made a more significant impact than shouting. Of course he was being incredibly forward to say this, but he couldn't help it, the words just spilled out in a way he had never before experienced. "The only life that is truly a waste is the life that was never properly examined." he said, with only a hint of intensity. The unexamined life is not worth living, Socrates had said, and Sterling intended to make his own, as well as the beautiful girl's in which he found himself fortunate enough to come face -to-face with, worth it.

He imagined Catalina's parents. He thought of them as looking hard and cruel, incessantly disapproving, and wearing ridiculous gaudy clothing. How had Catalina escaped such a fate, emerging angelically unscathed, with such a repulsive lineage?