Portrait Of A Lady Book Novels & Stories

“Something that can help him. Something to help us.” Lady Lily studied me in silence for a moment, then let out a quiet exhale. She stepped past me, her gown brushing the floor as she moved with practiced elegance. I watched as she halted at a shelf near the far corner, her hand hovering for just a moment before plucking out a book bound in dark leather. Turning back toward me, she held it up like an offering. “I believe this could help,” she said. Suspicion flickered through me. “Why would you give me this?”

I replied with a smile. Catherine was indeed beautiful. She had very long thick lashes and cute big eyes that fit perfectly on her round face. Fat cheeks and full attractive cheeks with well-accentuated curves and a beautiful heart as well. All the things I didn't have but wish I did. "Tonight is the night when you my girl takes back fully what truly belongs to you," Catherine said with a wink while proceeding to adjust her earring in the mirror. I smiled and picked up my purse from the table.

The shadows grew darker and the light got dimmer, just enough left so I could read off of the book. I turn the pages and my eyes caught a figure of a woman that looked like me, with exact features and everything. It seemed like someone drew the portrait and stick it in the book similar to a bookmark. I was baffled and I started to read what was written on the pages that were marked with my picture.

The portrait, however, morphed instantly into something altogether different. The stately woman in the drawing-room became a different woman looking out over the countryside. Forests and meadows dotted the space. Her clothing made little sense. She wore a loose-fitting shirt, tight pants of some sort, high boots, and a long, flowing cloak. Everything she wore was shades of brown. In her left hand, she carried a book above her shoulder like she tried to read it by moonlight. The book’s attached ribbon bookmark hung trapped by wind, like her long, wavy brown hair. In her other hand, she carried a twisted branch. Gemma’s first assumption was to call it a wand.

Lorkan’s voice was steady. “This is Christina Bathory, the last lady of the Bathory household. The year was 1650.” I shook my head, but he didn’t pause. His hand flipped another page, the paper rasping sharply in the silence. Another portrait. This time painted, not photographed. A woman in a dark blue gown, her hair chestnut brown, pinned in a style I’d only ever seen in museums. The same face, ageless, flawless, eyes that seemed to look straight through the canvas.

“She… she never told me.” “But this time, I’ll finally get to hear what she thinks.” He lifted the painting from the sketch board and offered it to me. “Do you like it, my lady?” It was a portrait of a woman. I wore a flowing gown, standing amid a sea of blooming roses, smiling softly. A beauty like jade, a bloom among blossoms. I had seen this painting before. In the Rose Manor dungeon, Leon had found this exact portrait in the study. The chat exploded.

"Have you forgotten the fact that Delicia had a son and a daughter to a non-magic human before? Normally, they should have the blood of a deity within them as well." The lady in the portrait added. Although the lady in the portrait was only capable of simple analysis, it actually has a good memory to make up with its deficiency. Since Professor Sonny already had the portrait in his possession for a long time now, then it was only normal for the lady in the portrait to know a thing or two about Professor Sonny's private matter. But it was a pity though, that the lady of the portrait was not able to retain her own consciousness. She was no sentient being.

It was all I could breathe in, and I realized I could stay there all day and not want to come out. A small clanking sound forcefully snapped me out of my reverie, and when I looked, Ryker was pulling out the portrait from its hidden corner. I heard a small gasp, and it took me a moment to realize that gasp had come from me, and I couldn’t tear my eyes off the breathtaking beauty in front of me. The portrait was a life-like painting of an ethereal woman, sitting regally on a gold covered throne with a crown made of pearls on her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean" She looked up, a small smile on her lips. "It is all right. I understand what you meant. And this is certainly an interesting book. This woman finds herself stranded on an island after her ship breaks apart on the rocks. She swims to shore but is utterly alone until she spies a figure on a distant hill" "Aw You found out my secret." He recognized the book. It was called Lady Isabelle and the Lord of the Dark Isle. It was one of L. R. Gloucester's works, a rather torrid Gothic novel.

"Done." Meanwhile, in the midst of a forest stood a three-story house, neatly concealed and distant from the City. A lady in her fifties was scanning a picture book with a big grin on her face in the vast gloomy room painted with black and glass-walled facing the forest. She seemed peaceful and pleased, reminiscing about the memories in each photo. Her voluminous haircut with light straight fringe in a bob cut, natural blonde, and highlights make her aura more alluring despite her age. Her emerald eyes glisten as she checks each page of the album, humming a lullaby that matches her mood.