Romans & histoires Portrait Of A Lady Book

There, between the unorganized stacks of books, sat a photograph of a woman. She was beautiful. Her wavy dark hair, warm chestnut eyes, and full red lips smiled kindly back at me with the glamour of an old Hollywood movie star. She looked so happy that her photo alone lit up the dour bedchamber. That must’ve been Liora. Valen stood and walked over to the bookshelf. Wordlessly, he tilted the picture and put it down so that I could no longer see it. Then, he turned to me, eyes once again containing that cool, hard edge.

Standing in front of it, Agatha picks it up before turning the first page, only to be greeted by the image of a young woman. It's an image captured with a faraway camera, like a spy camera, the ones that you are completely unaware of when your pictures are being taken. Because judging by how the lady was so in her own world with not a single care, she didn't look like she knew she was being photographed. With a blank and void face, Agatha studies the ladies features, drinking her in. Black waist length hairs, fair skin with natural blush on the cheeks, sharp jawline with high cheekbones and a long neck. Her eyes like that of a cat and lips plump and full.

Initially, Lady Faye opposed her suggestion to do servant duties inside the mansion, but after some time she acceded to her request knowing that it was her only way of decreasing her boredom and sadness. Lianne was sitting comfortably under the shade of a cypress tree with her knees bent to support the book she was reading intently. She was wearing a blue peasant dress that reached the ankle hiding her ivory-skinned legs. Covering her face was a delicately weaved wide-brimmed hat that was embellished with a red satin ribbon. The field of grass surrounding her was moist and fresh from a dense rainshower earlier that noon. The afternoon sun was hidden behind some clouds and the ocean breeze wa

The atmosphere was so comfortable that it made people sleepy. The young lady was reading a book with great concentration in front of the French window. Wearing a white dress, she looked like a white butterfly that was about to spread its wings and fly away under the setting sun. Her soft, jet black hair was as fluffy as the clouds, and it was so long that it touched the polished floor. After reading the book for a while, she closed it. Staring blankly at her reflection in the French window, she pondered over a question. Who am I?

Curiosity got the best of me as I pulled out the book and to my surprise, a strange light flew in the direction of the wall as it vanished. The entire freaking wall vanished! As my eyes landed on a portrait on the other side of the library. The picture of the man and woman in the portrait left my eyes as wide as saucers. No! It can't be!

It stood open, inviting her forward. The corridor beyond stretched long and carpeted, a faded rug softening her steps. Portraits lined the walls, smaller than the grand canvases she had discovered before. These were not ceremonial or formal. They were intimate. One showed a woman seated beside a window, a book open on her lap, her finger marking a page. Another held a woman beside a piano, her smile caught just before laughter. A third portrayed a woman at a writing desk, candlelight reflected in her dark eyes.

All romance books. Who would have thought Mr Halloway was a romantic in secret. I fixed my eyes on the portrait above the bookshelf. Sebastian. A lady with the prettiest blond hair I had ever seen and what looked like Jaden when he was younger. Barely a month old if I was being correct. The woman stared at him like he was the only man she had ever seen. She was in love. What happened to her. It would have been inappropriate for me to touch the portrait, but something in me was damn too curious for my own good.

Her breath hitched a little at my close proximity, and slowly her eyes looked up into mine. "I was–" she stuttered, staring at me. "Just, um… In the library, I found something that I thought was pretty interesting." She piqued my curiosity, and I gestured for her to show me. "What is it?" She pulled the book from underneath her arm and scanned through the pages until she found the one she was looking for. Turning the book towards me, she showed me a photo of a soft, elegant woman with regal attributes. Her long white hair flowed down over her shoulders, and a tall red and gold crown sat upon her head.

It’s a painting of a girl. Maybe fifteen, maybe seventeen. Dark hair like Noah’s, though longer - spilling forward in smooth curves down her collarbone. Eyes darker than his, yet somehow brighter, alive with quiet cleverness and a spark that suggests she knows something you don’t. A grin spreads, sudden and honest, cutting through the dull glow of the corridor lights. Not polished, not posed - just striking, because she feels completely present, utterly herself. A quiet blue dress covers her, nothing like royal attire. The tiny brown bird rests in her palms, neck bent like it might start humming any second. It clicks - the woman in the portrait - no need to check the tiny metal tag down belo