Over the next few months, I severed every remaining tie to my old life and spent my days in the studio learning oil painting restoration.Phaelis was filled with beautiful, golden sunlight and the rich aroma of fresh coffee. There was no endless waiting here, no suffocating scent of seafood, and no man constantly whispering "next time" in my ear.Six months later, my first independent restoration piece was selected to be exhibited at the academy's gallery. It was an 18th-century portrait that had arrived at the studio in catastrophic condition.The paint layers were badly cracked and flaking away, leaving the subject's face a blurred, unrecognizable ghost. I had spent three grueling months restoring her, millimeter by millimeter, until she was finally whole again.Professor Ethan Whitaker stood beside me, looking at the canvas. A warm, appreciative smile graced his elegant features."Eliza, you are incredibly talented," he said softly. "You've breathed life back into her soul.""
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