Chapter 8 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    What? Wasn''t this a nned program that repeats? Yesterday, the Four Seasons was the first painting, but today, the Zodiac is the first one. That''s also a painting I saw yesterday.


    Just like yesterday, I can see bright lights entering the 12 zodiac signs positioned behind the woman.


    Lightse on in all the zodiac signs and then go off, with the lighting on in the Aries sign at the bottom left of the Zodiac of the Ecliptic. After the brilliantly shining light of Aries goes off, the Taurus sign lights up, followed by Gemini.


    The zodiac signs light up one by one.


    After thest sign, Pisces, shines and then flickers off, all 12 lightse on and go off at once.


    And finally, one zodiac sign lights up.


    It''ll stop at Leo, just like yesterday.


    I was closely watching the Leo sign, expecting the light toe on.


    "Huh?"


    It''s not Leo? This time, the lightes on in Pisces, located at the very end. Is each program operated slightly differently?


    At that moment, I felt the dizziness of anemia returning and reflexively closed my eyes.


    An unpleasant sensation.


    It''s a feeling I''ve experienced yesterday, but still, I''m unable to adapt to the anemic symptoms. Even with my eyes closed, I feel the darkness enveloping me. I only opened my eyes after the spinning sensationpletely vanished.


    What? Where is this ce?


    Have I entered a dream again?


    Great! That''s what I wanted. Today, I wish to see themercially sessful Mucha creating and pouring out magnificent works of art as he soars in his career. It would give me strength too.


    But what unfolds before my eyes isn''t the morous streets of Paris, but a dark bedroom of a night.


    Not just any bedroom, but that of a European-style mansion.


    There''s a wooden easel in one corner, with a canvas on it.


    Around it are a palette with dried-up paints, a bucket, pencils, charcoal, and all, lying haphazardly, and an old but luxurious wooden chair.


    Therge window in front of me shows it''s quite dark outside, indicating that it''s night here too.


    I didn''t dare move, just roving my eyes around, trying to make sense of the suddenly changed environment.


    A dark room.


    Still, I can make out the arrangement and structure of the room, thanks to the moonlight streaming through the open curtains.


    Dark-toned furniture.


    Chests of drawers, wardrobes, chairs, and mirrors, pictures hanging on the walls.


    Seems like the bedroom of a well-off house.


    The size of the room appears to be about four times that of my studio apartment.


    For a moment, I forgot that I was dreaming and felt a slight fear. Because there''s another person in this room besides me.


    ''Ah, I''m invisible, right.''


    No need to be tense. Whoever is lying there can''t see me, so what''s the difference?


    A bed in a shadowy corner away from the moonlight.


    Thanks to the moonlight draping over the lower part of the bed, I can see the bulge of the nket. Someone is lying there.


    I moved towards the bed to identify the person lying there, but then a half-finished sketch on the floor caught my eye.


    A sketch only in charcoal, without any color. It was borate.


    Much like Mucha''s, the crowded sketch depicted a happy family having dinner.


    The mother with abundant hair bends her body in a beautiful curve and puts delicious-looking food on the table, and a boy and a girl with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other are waiting for the food and seem to dance with joy.


    The person who looks like the father is a little behind, wearing a suit.


    Just arriving home, carrying bags full of bread and fruits in both hands, he enters while smiling.


    The edges of the painting are adorned with vines, and it crosses my mind that it would look splendid if colored in a refreshing green.


    While I don''t im to know every painting in the world, this one doesn''t ring a bell in my memory.


    I''ll look it up once I wake up. I''m extremely curious about how it will feel when it''spleted.


    I got lost in the painting for a while and then slowly walked back towards the direction of the bed.


    Finally, when I reached the bottom of the bed, in the moonlight''s shadow, I found an old man lying there.


    White hair of moderate length, a white and stylish mustache curled upwards, and a simrly long white beard extending to his neck. If not for an overall feeling of frailty, he could almost be linked to Santa us.


    On the bedside table next to the bed where the old man lies, there''s a pair of round sses that seem to belong to him. Who is this grandfather? I feel like I''ve seen him somewhere.


    I stared at the sleeping old man for a while.


    The old man''s breathing reached my ears. However, the sound was unusual.


    Thanks to my experiences visiting the hospital frequently due to my disabled brother, I remember the sounds of patients in the pulmonary cancer ward. Labored breathing, as if boiling phlegm. There''s a strong smell of impending death from the old man.


    This old man is in considerable pain right now.


    As I observed the sleeping old man for a while, I noticed arge and beautiful patternedmp next to the bed. It seemed like it would emit a beautiful light when turned on.


    Above the old man''s head hung arge painting, and next to it, there was a calendar.


    " July 4, 1939?"


    In a fleeting thought, I quickly turned my head to the old man''s face, and a shiver ran down my spine.


    This grandfather is Alphonse Mucha, who died ten days ago.


    In just a day, Mucha, who I saw as a 34-year-old yesterday, has now be a 78-year-old in front of me.