Chapter Text
There are four paintings in the hall outside the choir room, and Wilhelm could probably recreate them from memory at this point. Even though he can only draw stick figures. He’d give them a shot.
There’s a painting of the lake, one of the main school building, one of a group of students playing on the lawn, dressed in period-appropriate clothing, and, incongruously, one of a bowl of apples.
Painted by Carl Jansson, the gilded plate proclaims, valedictorian of 1927. It’s not clear why he’s better than the valedictorians of other years, but maybe he was the only one who painted something. Wilhelm doesn’t spend too much time looking at that one, moves over to the lake one instead.
Wilhelm tries to think about what he’d paint, if he was given the task of adding to the wall of ostentatious masterpieces. The palace? There are days when he doesn’t even want to remember he’s a prince, much less spend time sketching out each and every one of its incredibly over-the-top interiors. Hillerska is out, since there’s no sight better than the one that’s already been painted.
It’d have to be something worth remembering, right? Something that he felt able to dedicate hours and hours to, if the delicate details in the school building or the students’ clothes was anything to go by. Even the glimmers on the apples seem like they were crafted finely, by a thoughtful hand.
What would he want to spend that much time on?
Then the choir room door opens, and the students spill out, and Simon looks around, catches sight of Wilhelm, and grins. His smile is bright enough to lighten up anything, including dingy corridors filled with paintings done by people long gone.
And Wilhelm knows what he’d paint, now.
(If he could.)