Medieval Cat Paintings Novels & Stories

Artemisia moved closer to Leonore, having a much better view of the illustrations they had in the book. Those drawings were as realistic as those of that child-like being. There were drawings of the Little Servants, the pregnant women, the elderly, babies. They probably had more pages talking about them, since it seemed that the text had no end. Looking at the two pages, something caught the young woman's attention. One part was very badly painted, it was still possible to read some of what was written under the yellow paint. 'Servants usually represent... of the person who owns them.'

“Yes, miss?” “We, uh, lost our tour guide,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “But I really wanted to know more about that painting. It’s... breathtaking.” It terrified me—but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. He walked over with us and studied the canvas for a second. “Ah yes… a true treasure. Painted during the medieval period. And I must say, miss, the resemblance... it’s uncanny.” I gave a polite smile, but those familiar chills licked down my spine.

It was exquisitely constructed and fashioned with great beauty. I caressed the figure and muttered, "Wow." I set it down and scantily scanned the living room. The paintings of mountains and werewolves with their jagged claws and fangs didn't catch my attention till later. There were images of them fighting, while others show this gathering of wolves of all sizes and colors. My focus, however, was fixed on the huge, black figurine that resembled a wolf. The wolf appeared in every artwork. While the remaining ones only have one, there were three who shared the same black wolf. The artwork matched that found in the castles.

She took her seat with hesitation. - What I am going to tell you is more a legend than a fact. - Cassius said, searching for something in the book. Soon, he found what he was looking for, and Demetria noticed a picture of the white dragon surrounded by other beasts in different colors, just like she had expected. The white giant was in the center of the painting, looking superior to others, but that could be only the painter's imagination. Other beasts were bowing to him, which looked familiar to what Alex did. Demetria gave her uncle a questioning look. The good thing was that he seemed calmer now.

Either way, this painting was never just a painting. Now it was a goddamn clue. A warning. And maybe—just maybe—the French weren’t as far out of this war as I thought. A cold shiver slid down my spine. “No fucking way.” I turned to Valentino. “You seeing what I’m seeing?” He stepped closer, squinting. slow. “It’s her.” “It’s not her,” Pietro said. “It’s centuries old. The signature’s Japanese. Middle era. Style’s authentic.” “But it looks like her,” Ghost said quietly.

she replied almost instantly, making me titter. "Can I get a cup of coffee please?" I tried to hide the sound of exhaustion from my voice but failed miserably. Looking at one of the many paintings hanging on the white painted walls, I couldn't help but admire it the more. It was a painting of a cat, one that I had found when I was on my way to shop for some supplies. I didn't know why I chose it out of other paintings there, but I guess it was an invisible force of attraction. It was a drawing of a weird cat with a colourful background. People thought I was crazy when I bought it. Truth be told, it was quite ugly but I guess I just liked it.

Thick velvet curtains hid the long windows across the walls. Two antique couches stood on opposite sides of each on the rug in front of the fireplace, accompanied by rich black wing-chairs, and a large bed in the middle of the room. The paintings and panels on the walls seem to blink because of their glistening temperament. For Catherine, the most special thing in this room was the mirror. It was decorated nicely with hand made flowers, candles etc. Sitting in front of this big mirror and staring at herself for hours has been turned into a habit.

It was a cozy quiet room and it smelled like old books. Lyle walked straight to the desk and pulled the desk chair out. Amaris could see the desk in front of her was a carved ornate piece, that was most likely very old. It too, like many of the things that she had seen in this place, had scenes depicting trees and woods and wolves on mountain tops. While Lyle was doing something at the back of the desk, Amaris took the time to look at the carving in the center of the front of the desk. It was a wolf who appeared to be glowing on a mountain top under a very large full moon. Further down the piece, there was a wolf clearly injured at the glowing wolf’s feet and below that there were men and wo

Alexander He gritted his teeth as he studied the image of his lycan above the marbled mantlepiece. The painting was done by a royal pack member, Paul Cezanne in 1858. The worth of the art was invaluable like the artist himself. No matter how much he tried to relax, it was impossible. His wolf was snarling and roaring in his head, wanting blood on his sharp canines. The blood of the enemy. A fucking necromancer. He will tear him piece by piece by nightfall tomorrow.

But now, with Dante at her side, she let her steps carry her deeper. Paintings lined the walls. Some were clearly centuries old—cracked oils depicting moonlit forests, full moons hovering over blood-soaked battlefields. Werewolves, mid-shift, frozen in snarls. Others were sculptures—impossibly detailed—of wolves with human eyes. She stopped in front of a large painting framed in dark iron. It was a family portrait—medieval in style, somber in tone. A man and woman sat on an elaborate chair, dressed in regal clothes, both with piercing golden eyes. Two boys stood beside them. One was taller, with hair like coal and a face that looked—