Aislin tore her gaze away from the painting to regard the man with a look of incredulity, believing his initial comment to be facetious. Her expression grew mortified, however, as he professed his blindness - and she was so caught up on it that she missed his continued explanation.
“Oh, god!” She gushed, bumbling on in a rush of words thereafter. “I’m so sorry! It really seemed like you were giving it such thought; and you were really very convincing; and you have no cane, or guide dog, or anything like that,” and how are you maintaining eye contact?! She had wanted to add, noting the intensity of his unseeing focus. An embarrassed flush bloomed across her cheeks, and she suddenly (and very selfishly) found herself grateful that he couldn’t see it.
With a clearing of her throat, she turned her attention back to the canvas - describing, to the best of her ability, what had been painted thereupon. She spoke slowly, as though sounding out the details in her mind before giving voice to them. “There are two winged beings, intertwined; a man and a woman; a demon and an angel. The only colors are in shades of red and white; a touch of black for shadowing. Their pose is intimate; not one of hostility, but of mutual reverence. Her hand is placed over his chest - alabaster over crimson - and his grips the crook of her knee. Their legs are tangled up, and the way his tail spirals around them, along with the profiled positioning of their wings, reminds me of The Caduceus.
“The Staff of Hermes,” she explained, glancing briefly toward him before continuing on. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but it’s often used as a medical symbol. It’s a winged staff, with two snakes twisted around it. This feels like a celestial mirroring of that. I wonder if that was intentional. Like, maybe the red and the white is symbolic of more than just good and evil. Maybe the medicinal similarities are intentional, and the color scheme is representative of blood cells, too.”