The Immortal Gazette: The Cursed Portrait of Dorian Gray
The grand hall of The Immortal Gazette flickered with firelight, shadows dancing along the gemstone walls. Alice was perched on the armrest of Loki’s chair, twirling a silver spoon between her fingers, while Loki lounged in his usual too-comfortable way—one leg draped over the side, a smirk playing at his lips.
Rumplestiltskin stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, still watching them with the same suspicion he’d been carrying since earlier that evening. Something was off with Alice.
She was too… nice to Loki.
She leaned into him when she laughed. She actually listened to his jokes. And worst of all? She wasn’t even mocking him properly.
It was unnatural.
But before he could probe, Alice clapped her hands together, drawing attention back to the matter at hand.
"Alright, darlings, let's discuss one of the greatest cautionary tales of vanity, corruption, and eternal torment—the tale of Dorian Gray."
Rumplestiltskin hummed, shifting his weight. “Ah, Oscar Wilde’s little masterpiece, was it?”
Loki grinned. “Oh yes, the story of a man so beautiful and arrogant that he thought he could outwit time itself.”
Alice’s eyes gleamed. “And so, like any foolish mortal who desires eternal youth, he made a deal—one he didn't even realize he had made.”
Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow. “Ah, but that’s the best kind of curse, isn’t it? The ones that sneak up on you.”
Loki chuckled. “Indeed. Dorian was a stunningly handsome young man, adored by all who laid eyes on him. But he was also vain, self-absorbed, and deeply impressionable.”
Alice nodded. “Enter Lord Henry Wotton—a charming little devil who whispered poisonous thoughts into Dorian’s ears. He told him that beauty and youth were everything, that pleasure was the only pursuit worth having, and that morality? Overrated.”
Rumplestiltskin snorted. “Sounds like someone I know.” He pointedly didn’t look at Loki.
Loki smirked. “Flattery will get you everywhere, dear imp.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Dorian—already obsessed with his own beauty—had his portrait painted by the talented Basil Hallward. And when he saw just how magnificent it was, he despaired.”
Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. “Why despair?”
Loki leaned forward. “Because the portrait would always remain young and perfect while he… well, would not.”
Alice grinned. “So he made a foolish little wish. That he could stay young and untouched by time, while the painting bore the marks of his sins instead.”
Rumplestiltskin exhaled. “And the gods—or fate, or whatever cruel force was listening—decided to grant his wish.”
Alice nodded, eyes glittering with delight. “From that moment on, Dorian indulged in every vice imaginable—pleasure, cruelty, corruption. And yet, he remained untouched, perfect. But the painting?”
Loki’s smirk darkened. “Oh, the painting rotted. It twisted. Every sin he committed, every soul he destroyed, every innocent he led astray—all of it was reflected in that damned portrait.”
Rumplestiltskin’s lips curled. “And yet, he kept it hidden, didn’t he?”
Alice nodded. “Locked away in an attic. Out of sight, out of mind—or so he thought.”
Loki sighed dramatically. “Until the guilt began to eat him alive.”
Rumplestiltskin chuckled darkly. “Ah, so the pretty little fool thought he could enjoy his pleasures without consequence, only to realize that the price was always lurking in the shadows.”
Alice smirked. “Exactly. And when someone finally discovered the painting—when Basil, the very man who created it, saw what Dorian had become—Dorian murdered him in a fit of rage.”
Rumplestiltskin tutted. “Messy.”
Loki tilted his head. “It only got worse from there. He tried to repent, to change his ways—but when he checked the painting, it had grown even uglier, because his fake redemption was just another act of vanity.”
Alice grinned. “And so, in his final act of desperation, he stabbed the portrait—thinking he could kill his sins.”
Loki shrugged. “But all he did was break the curse. The painting became perfect again… and he—”
Alice finished. “—was found dead, a withered, hideous husk, aged with all the years he had cheated.”
Rumplestiltskin smirked. “Ah, poetic justice. Nothing quite like watching vanity consume itself.”
Loki chuckled. “Which reminds me… I may have tried something similar once.”
Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Loki waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, a cursed mirror instead of a painting. Same effect, different medium.”
Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “Please. I was far more creative.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically. “Once upon a time, I crafted a portrait of myself—one that reflected every single mistake I ever made.”
Loki nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes. The tragic masterpiece of your regrets.”
Alice gasped theatrically. “How haunting.”
Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t mock me.”
Alice and Loki exchanged the most exaggeratedly serious looks.
Loki placed a hand over his heart. “Why, dear imp, I would never.”
Alice nodded. “Perish the thought.”
Rumplestiltskin’s eyes darkened. “You are mocking me.”
Alice smirked. “Perhaps a little.”
Rumplestiltskin grumbled under his breath, but before he could argue further, Alice shivered slightly.
Loki immediately noticed. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his emerald-green coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Rumplestiltskin’s jaw twitched.
Alice smiled at Loki. "Why, thank you, darling."
Loki smirked. “Of course.”
Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth.
Then Loki casually strolled over to the fireplace and added more logs to the fire.
Rumplestiltskin’s eye twitched.
Something was very wrong here.
And if he didn’t get to the bottom of it soon… he might just end up setting something else on fire.
🖋️✨📜🖤
