Afton Family Portrait Novels & Stories

Your presence would mean the world to us, and we look forward to creating new memories together. With heartfelt thanks and warmest regards, The Sinclair Family Tears welled in Hyacinth’s eyes as she reached for the old black-and-white photos, some of them faded with time. Her mother, Georgina Af Forselles, was always at the center, surrounded by powerful figures. She had been a force to be reckoned with—a woman of immense strength and intelligence. Yet, her life had taken a tragic turn when she married Samuel Dawson. I couldn’t help but wonder how such a powerful woman had ended up trapped in a toxic marriage.

•~•Aziel’s POV The Grant mansion felt quieter than usual. Still. Hollow. I stood in the hallway beside Irene, both of us staring at the large family portrait hanging on the wall. My father, my mother, and two boys dressed in matching blazers. My brother and I. The perfect family on canvas. Nothing more than lies pressed into paint. "How long are you going to keep staring at this?" Irene asked, her voice soft but impatient. "You already got what you came for. Let’s go."

I could imagine a young Ashton working alongside his nonno making wine. As we walked through the house, I noticed a lot of pictures of his family on the walls. Isabella had the entire house full of family pictures from when Ashton was young up until recently. There was a few years that his mother wasn't present on some family photos but I knew the reason why and it made me feel sad all over again. “You must have heard what happened when Ashton was five years old.” Nonna asked as she looked at a picture where Ashton and Bella were around six years old standing with their father. They were all were smiling but you could tell it was forced.

Carl and Karin dropped to their knees beneath it. And I saw the rock. It was large and flat. Positioned against the trunk like a tiny altar. Someone had smoothed the surface. Cleared away the moss and dirt. And drawn on it. Even from a distance, I could see the picture. Crude but recognizable. Four figures holding hands. A woman with long dark hair. A tall man with broad shoulders. Two small children between them. All of them smiling. My throat closed up. They had drawn our family. The family we should have been. The family we almost were before everything fell apart.

I froze at the door, my pulse hammering. Rita. My children. Ashton. And none of them even realized how out of place this was. Ashton glanced up then, and his eyes caught mine. For a second, his expression was unreadable, caught between different emotions, like amusement, caution, and something softer. He looked back down at Kate’s drawing. It was crude, childlike, full of mismatched colors. But clear enough: five little figures, hand-in-hand. A woman with long hair. A tall man with broad shoulders.

"I'll be right back. I need to go check on your mum to be sure she's fine." I headed out and stopped at the stairs with my eyes fixated on the huge wooden and glass-framed portrait of Axton's late dad hanging on the wall. He stood in a dignified pose with his black hair adorned with grey streaks, a twinkle in his eye, and a vibrant and robust energy. Axton looked so much like his dad except that his dad's eyes had a subtle grey hue that looked back at me. My hands reached out to touch the painted surface. "You need to save your family. You need to come through right now. Else, I'm afraid you will not have any legacy left."

The Yatra family was already eating when I sat and grabbed the utensils. "Good morning, young one. I can see you had a change of appearance. Now you truly look like a person from the high society" Astolf´s gaze went from my face to the bandana on my arm, and her expression hardened. The same thing happened with Crista, whereas Carin seemed indifferent. "Well... Maybe not so much... But anyway, nothing that the chosen of Herion can´t handle, right?" "Honey" With a scolding look from her wife, Astolf had no choice but to smile awkwardly as he apologized.

“Do you really want to know that bad?” He walks toward me with a rectangular wooden frame in his hands. I looked at him before taking it from his hands only to see a vintage photograph containing four figures in it. It looks like it was taken from centuries ago, as it was full of stains and fractures already. Two men and two women, with the latter sitting in between the two, all of them in dramatically formal attires. I felt my whole face stiffened upon recognizing the people in the photograph. In the right side is my father, Prometheus Valentin in his ice cold gaze glory, beside him in the middle is my lovely mother, sitting along with Matertera Matilda, with a gaze as frozen as my father.

Aren took a step forward as he spoke, offering her a warm smile. Aspen knew she wasn't strong enough to take on Colin alone, at least not yet. She thought for a moment, then unlocked the door and let him in. The moment they stepped inside, Aren's gaze fell on the three portraits neatly arranged in the living room. His heart clenched. Aspen, however, simply pointed at Sophie's picture. There was a soft smile on her lips as she introduced, "This one's my daughter." "She's beautiful," Aren said gently. "Especially her eyes—they look just like yours."

Erina turned away without a backward glance. Jason followed her wordlessly up the stairs, the silence between them thick enough to choke on. In the main hall, she paused. Her eyes wandered to the wall above the fireplace. There stood the grand family portrait painted years ago. Lord Axton in the center, one arm around her as a child, the other resting on her mother Lucinda, and Kiara stood behind them, in the shadows where she belongs. I could see the pain in his eyes. The pain that his daughter wasn’t by his side. Even in paint, the difference was clear. There was a forced warmth for one, and a forced restraint for the other.