It was so hardly a difficult thing, in that moment, to share his very thoughts upon the art presented to him within the sketchbook. Harley's creations were nearly vastly different from his own and yet the Monarch was nothing if not distinctly welcoming of those varied arts. After all, how was art truly defined? Once, perhaps, he had been limited in his belief. After all, the art of his childhood and indeed much of his life was limited to portraits of kings, of landscapes, of prized hunting dogs or warhorses. That art could be anything other than a representation of what existed before one's eyes had been a vastly unique concept to the Monarch and yet- how terribly wonderful it was to learn otherwise! The art of the modern day was vivid and bright. One might draw what they see or they imagined or what they wished the world to be. Art held no limit or rules. It had no script, no formula and indeed, perhaps in that very fashion, it was the freedom of art that so drew the Monarch to it. Dorian, in that moment, entirely content to share those very thoughts with the young woman who rested upon the desk. His words seemed to prompt a consideration within her in turn before she nodded. Only to insist that, perhaps, she had misjudged him and his open-mindedness. That very compliment so readily prompted a bright grin to the Fae's features. Ah, how delightful to be called something so modern as 'open-minded'.

"Thank you, it pleases me very much to be called such a thing."

Ah, but how surely Harley did not know how very hard he had worked to...broaden his view of the world when it had become vastly apparent to him those around him had,once, considered him nothing short of closed-minded in every sense of the word. His upbringing,perhaps, had been vastly to blame and yet how delightful it was to see some success in his efforts to embrace modernity. To be something more than the Fae King trapped within the past. Some values, perhaps, were destined to remain distinctly....ancient and yet,even those small progressions so readily seemed to bring the Monarch no small sense of joy. Harley's distinctly grey-scaled drawings were, in turn, equally refreshing. Dorian wholly content to comment upon those pieces he enjoyed and to query why she chose such a unique use of colour-or rather lack of it. The young woman content to insist so few ever seemed to notice. It was only once the Fae King found himself satisfied with his understanding that Harley's sketchbook ws returned gently and dutifully to her. Dorian, instead, opening his own book to a blank page. His favoured white pastel was easily selected then. The Monarch began to effortlessly add several white lines to his page, a silence momentarily settling between the pair as the Fae King focused wholly upon his task. Only to abruptly ask Harley about herself. That singular question seemed to provoke no small amount of discord within the woman. A notion Dorian was content to find almost amusing. The colours of her soul had suggested....exactly that and yet how readily he so no need to comment upon such a thing yet. Dorian merely attempted to insist such questions were devised to afford him a greater picture.

Harley, despite her reluctance to speak of those very things, seemed content enough to answer all the same. The young woman's words prompted several more sharp strokes of the Monarch's pastel agianst paper. She was, Dorian had decided, a distinctly sarcastic being and yet-her words were honest all the same. How rarely he was ever afforded such honesty from anyone! After all, those around him were so often inclined to merely offer him the words they believed he desired to hear- not their own true feelings on the matter. How very...refreshing. Dorian content to comment upon that very thing. His words prompted her to raise an eye before insisting she was happy to fascinate. Harley querying whether or not her aura would be less.....visible if she herself fell silent. That notion prompted a chuckle from the Fae King as his head shook.

"No. Your words have no effect on your aura. They merely help me to better translate it. Your soul is not affected by your words but your words are derived from your soul- if that at all makes sense."

Dorian responded softly, his silver gaze meeting her own gently once more before returning to that drawing in front of him. How hardly Dorian had anticipated Harley's sudden desire to turn those questions back upon him! The young were so seemingly oblivious to that decided faux pas she had committed and yet....how certain Dorian was it was almost pleasant to be in the company of one who spoke her thoughts. Her true thoughts. Not those concealed by political chains. Still- those very questions seemed to prompt a frown to his features, a look of consideration seeming to linger for several moments before Dorian offered that answer. How did he miss what he had never had? After all, he could not miss what he had never known or experienced. His life, from the moment of his birth, had been...dictated for him. With but a singular diversion. Thatmention of freedom, however, so readily seemed to strike a potent cord. Dorian, in turn, was content to offer Harley the very truth of his thoughts upon the matter. That desire for a freedom he suspected he might never have so clear within his voice. Perhaps it was not very royal of him to admit as such and yet.....was he not allowed to have desires? Not allowed to even admit to them? Harley, after all, was unlikely to speak of them to any other. The Were woman an unanticipated confidant in that moment. The young woman,in turn, seemed to consider his words before insisting that his coming here was at least one step toward that very freedom. A tattoo parlour surely worthy of a scandal-her words prompting a soft chuckle of amusement to his lips as he worked. This, she insisted, was far bolder than his going to a sandwich shop.

"You are quite right. I should think this has been a terribly bold day for me. I look rather forward to telling my husband about it."

How sincerely he meant such words. Dorian rather delighted in the prospect of sharing this day with Sebastian. His husband, after all, seemed to find pleasure in hearing of such things in turn. Those secrets kept between themselves. There was, after all, no need for parliament or the press to know of his visits to this very place. It was, however, his completion of that verydrawing that prompted his gaze to shift downward once more-Dorian abruptly allowing his affinity to embrace that seemingly white page. Colour abruptly bloomed across that sketchbook at the singular touch of his finger. Those vivid, bright shades blending and blurring with effortless ease to adorn that page in a plethora of colour. Harley's aura was nothing short of beautiful. Dorian, at that moment, was content to offer his explanation of exactly what he saw within it. His words so seeming to render the young woman near....speechless as she stared at him. Perhaps she....did not agree with his very assessment? Yet- how certain he was of those things he saw. Her soul all but bursting with personality, her temperament a seeming confliction and yet beneath it all....how very....good she was. A good person. To her core.

Several moments of silence seemed to exist between the pair then as Harley considered those very words. The young woman seemed....content with that notion before suddenly asking if he had seen 'anything weird'. Both eyes rose upward in surprise. Dorian glanced down at that paper before him once more.

"Weird? I should not think so. Although 'weird' is perhaps not the right word. No soul is alike any other, by that notion they are all unusual with no true measure of commonness. Youdo though possess an anomaly-if that it was you mean."

Dorian nodded with assurance, his features frowning slightly once more in consideration.His finger running over a singular part of that drawing.

"You have suffered a great deal of what is best described as loss within your life and yet while most people either accept such a thing or adamantly refuse to do so, your aura is vastly conflicted. I have never quite seen this before. It is almost as if you cannot decide whether you think you might deserve to have suffered such loss or not. As if a part of you believes you are not meant to be happy."

The Monarch's gaze lifted gently to her own then, Dorian moving to turn that portrait around. To offer Harley a true view of it entirely in all its coloured glory. The young woman momentarily fell silent once more before declaring she had made her look 'smoking hot'. How readily those words prompted a near flush of colour to the Monarch's cheeks!

"I am most pleased you like it- I am inclined to merely draw what I see and you are indeed a woman very pleasing to the eye."

Harley seemed nearly taken with those colours then, the young woman asking after grey and gold and red as Dorian's head nodded.

"Red can mean many things. Anger, passion, sometimes love. Grey is often indecision or confliction- yet it can also mean stability. It depends upon what colours are around it. In this case I think you are conflicted about several aspects of your life, you are uncertain on how you feel. Gold is a most glorious colour indeed. Gold represents life and happiness and a purity of soul itself. It is how I know you are indeed a good person. Your aura is lined with gold. You have a desire to live, to embrace life."

Dorian smiled warmly then, his head nodding in assurance before Harley queried whether or not her aura might somehow be trapped within his pages! That very question prompted a look of near horror to his features.

"Certainly not! I merely draw what I see. I possess several affinities, including one for art that allows my work with colour. I do not possess the ability to entrap a soul within an artwork. At least....not exactly."

How readily a look almost sheepishly Matteo-like seemed to linger upon the Monarch features then. Dorian chuckled softly all the same.

"This, I promise though, is just a drawing. Would you like to keep it?"

It would, after all, hardly be difficult to take that page from his book if she desired it. The Monarch paused for her answer before his gaze glanced downward at that colourful page once more.

"Harley, would you like to know something?"

His gaze lifted once more, meeting the young woman's violet eyes in turn, a faint simper tugging at his lips again.

"Prego means 'your welcome' in Italian."

Ah, how very impish he might be given to look in that moment. That warm chuckle finding his lips again.

Dorian Aragona