Novelas y relatos de Portrait Of A Lady On Fire

She didn’t think anymore that she was meant to be hurt. The torch led to another stone path that seemed to have weakened with age. The brightness here was intensified, and she could barely see anything other than stark whiteness. Slowly, it diminished, leaving in its pace different artistic designs. It seemed like each image was speaking to her. It seemed like they were trying to tell her their story, but they didn’t know how to do that. It was such an intense feeling that almost weakened her. Clarissa moved a step further as the painting of a woman, likely a witch because her eyes were ablaze with a blue fire and her claws were longer than a wick, cried as she burned in a ball of fire. The

her hands alight with flame. For the first time, Sandro witnessed the flame of the Phoenix. The intensity overwhelmed him, and he felt the heat radiating off it. His eyes narrowed as Lady Arabella torched the ground around her—fire and wind now encompassing her, and her white hair turned fiery red, mirroring the flame. "Hear my plea, immortal enchantress, and let your magic flow through my veins as I become the inferno that consumes all opposition," Lady Arabella growled. The sound was deafening, and more flames poured out of her for a brief moment until it ceased. Everything fell silent again, and Lady Arabella stood, gently kissing the statue before turning on her heel as if nothing had oc

Someone must have burned incense here recently, thought Victoria. She looked up and saw huge portraits of people. All around were beautifully painted portraits of men and women, the frames decorated in gold and jewels. Below the portraits laid the weapons of the owners respectively and their names. "Margaret Burnlocks, fourth Demon Lord, died in the year of ......," Victoria read the names. She looked up to see a middle aged woman smiling brightly.

Everywhere was on fire, and some of the people were being burnt alive while some stood and watched it, The people being burnt alive had been gathered up and tied down to be burnt alive by Lady Maria, whose hands emitted fire from it. So much for a beautiful woman whose heart was as rock as ice. I guess the expression the most dangerous people are the pretty ones was quite true. I noticed the man who had wanted to do the rebellion lying on the floor. His head had been disconnected from his body. I hid behind the thick bushes, and my heart pounded hard. I was indeed doomed.

The fire on the beach had died down and all that remained were the glowing embers, and the remains of the charred woman, roped to the stake. Faye looked down. She was wearing a long white dress and her feet were bare as she walked over the burning embers, her arm outstretched to touch the woman’s blackened face. Her eyes were open. ‘Help me, ’the woman whispered, as hot blood flowed from her mouth, over Faye’s hand. ’Please help me. ’

The flames climbed the portraits first, paintings of founders, leaders, wives, husbands, traitors, victims. Each face melted, blurred, vanished. Except one. A soft shift of smoke drifted across the far wall. A portrait near the back, Jessica’s portrait, painted years before Olivia ever arrived. As the fire curled around the frame, the smoke thickened… shifted… rippled… And then the face in the portrait changed. Not melted. Not burned. Changed. The smoke twisted into her. Jessica. Standing inside the smoke.

A cruel smile tugged at my mouth. Click. The flame roared to life, catching the curtains first. Within seconds, fire raced across the living room, devouring the sofa, the dining table, the bed where I once fooled myself into believing he might have loved me. I stood outside as the blaze consumed everything, its glow painting my face in shades of red and gold. The fire wasn’t just burning wood and fabric—it was erasing a past I could never return to. “This is the end,” Lily’s voice murmured, soft and solemn, like a hymn. “Ten days left, Ann.”

“A servant saw her weeping over a portrait of a man. She clearly still pines for her former lover…” “And where’s that portrait?” Isabella paused. “After such a huge fire, I’m sure it…” “...was burned to ashes?” James scoffed. “How convenient.” He then ignored her and walked to the miscellaneous items salvaged from the fire, which had been piled up at the side. There were burnt furniture, a few destroyed books, and an overturned chest. He approached the chest and stared at it. Then, all of a sudden, he kicked it over! The chest fell on its side, scattering a few half-burnt clothes and a framed portrait. The edges of the frame were burnt, but it protected the painting within.

She screams, pointing her palm towards the woman, not wanting to admit defeat yet. A blazing inferno appeared from the ground, engulfing the priestess in a swirling hell. Lilian felt her blood rush while backing away at the sight of the burning woman. The fire that burned bright was quickly absorbed into the lady’s hands that were opened, like a beggar, begging for alms. It even left a puff of smoke before completely disappearing on her palms. Lilian ended swallowing hard, suddenly being taken over by fear upon seeing that. “Mistress!” Verna and Serene screamed while they backed away.

Alex opened the door, and we all filed in. The room was decorated in rich browns and maroon, with oil paintings in elaborate gilded frames. The fire was lit, and above the mantle, there was a portrait of a woman in a lavender gown, with a small hat atop her head. Her face was fanned with black curls and her skin was luminescent, even in a painting. She had the richest and vibrant violet eyes. They reminded me of Nico’s.