A Gift for the Painter
A young architect worked to build a glorious tower, a bold statement of their intent to change the world. They did everything right, the design was adroit, the work well-compensated, the agreements negotiated cannily. It took five years to be completed, tall and beautiful... and within a year after its completion, the Painter-in-Rust took a brush to the invisible cracks in the support beams and it collapsed.
The architect, older and wiser, researched the problem, bolstered the design, sourced only the best and strongest materials to rebuild it, as grand as before and more sturdy. It took another five years to build... and it stood for five years more before rain and ice let the Painter's clever into the foundation and it crumbled.
The architect, now with plenty of years and other work behind them, began again, considering the location, researching the weather, discovering ways to let the building work with the elements rather than defy them. Their new tower was a wonder of flexibility, at the same time a monument and practically a part of nature. As they labored on it for five years and five years more, they crushed and toppled and burned smaller models of the tower in offering to the Painter, saying "Please, let this destruction be enough, let my grand work stand in peace!" ...and it was almost done when a breeze from the Painter's wing swept across one of those small fires, and the whole larger structure caught aflame and burned down as the architect watched.
"But why?" they called, as their life's work thus far rested in a smoldering heap before them. They were sure the Painter was in there somewhere, able to hear them. "Why couldn't you be satisfied with what I offered?"
The Painter's voice came then, like the crackling of a short circuit. "You offered what you didn't value. Why would I use that for a canvas?"
"So, how can I hope to ever build something you won't tear down?" cried the architect.
The Painter's voice was metal fatigue. "You can't. I come to everything in the end. But I do love a challenge. This would've been a good one, I could've worked on it for ages, but..." One of the little building-effigies trembled slightly, but stayed upright.
"Well, if you'll always have your way, why should I build it again?" the architect asked. "Why should I try to build anything?"
The Painter's voice was dust in the void. "Any building you build will rot, it's true. But what will rot in you, if you stop trying?"
The old architect began again, this tower their final project, their design clever and strong and subtle, building upon everything they'd learned and everything that had failed. They even lived to put the capstone on, themself. And that tower stood for five centuries before the Painter's work on it finally completed, leaving it to persist only in memory.
