Portrait Of An Unknown Woman นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Then her gaze was drawn to something, or rather a painting. This was a photograph, not a painting. A clear image of a beautiful redhead woman dressed in royal attire, seated on a chair, smiling widely and freely, staring at something other than the camera's tilt. This lady was young, and Brielle noted that this picture was the most extensive frame here, and it hung in the middle of the room, shining brightly, brazenly displaying itself to the world and whoever set foot into this place. Who was this lady? Brielle questioned herself as her mind raced through various possibilities and answers.

He decided against returning to his room at once where there was nothing to do and looked at the paintings that hung on the walls. There were some curious portraits where the sitters looked at the viewer with a piercing stare and a demonic smile. One such painting was of a woman in an elegant red gown with fur lining, evidently a member of the aristocracy. Her background was dark, making it impossible to tell where she was. She had an unusually high forehead and her hair was partly covered with fine lace. Jon could have admired the skill of the artist and the attention to detail if he were not distracted by the devious expression formed by the woman’s thin lips and the slightly squinting eye

His hands shook so badly the clasps took longer than they should have. My voice distorted: “Open it.” The Minister’s fingers fumbled over the clasps. He pushed the lid back to reveal a painting wrapped in protective cloth Carefully, he peeled it back. It was a portrait — a woman, seated in a red chair, her gaze turned slightly away. The colors were rich but worn, like time had been chewing at the edges. A woman. Still. Eternal. Her eyes were soft but knowing, her lips painted with care. And on her bare shoulder — a birthmark. Small, distinct.

There is a homely and intricately bordered fireplace on one side, with two armchairs sitting in front of it and in between them a small round glass-top coffee table. But it's not the furnishing that grabs my attention right away, it's the large family portrait hanging on the wall directly above the fireplace. I stride over to closer inspect the portrait more. There sitting on a throne-like chair, is one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid eyes on. She appears to be in her mid-forties, dressed in a white gown. She's cradling an emerald-eyed blonde baby wrapped in white.

She reached out and pulled it off. The painting underneath was large. Larger than the others. A woman, standing in three quarter profile against a dark background, dressed in the style of a previous century, her posture straight and entirely composed. The detail was extraordinary, the kind of work that took months and a painter who understood they were preserving something important. Caelith looked at her face. Her own face looked back.

The screen flickered to life, showing a woman with seductive, half-lidded eyes, whom I recognized as me. The video was recorded in a familiar setting—the clinic, during one of Rodrick's treatments for my illness. A woman's moan came from the video. I looked at the two of them and asked, "What do you want to do?" Colby took a step forward. "You've got to help us out, Brianna. You're a huge hit on foreign internet sites now, and men are crazy about you." He held up his hand and named a figure. "We'll give you this much for one night."

Something seemed familiar about her and I couldn't place a finger on where I have met her before. "It looks as though you have quite the eye for great art", I said, giving her a subtle smile.She grinned, glancing at the portrait."Yes, I do. I am a big fan of seamus. Though he is not the type who takes the credit and comes out to the public, I love all his works and I always look forward to each new release", she said.I glanced at the artwork, a painting of prehistoric lovers, sharing a kiss while sitting on beach rock. The lady wore little clothes, which barely covered her body while her male lover, wore a piece of clothing that covered his groin area.

Abigail announced drawing closer to the portrait, her magic whispering all around her. There was a silence as they all looked at the portrait. “Wait, this woman is over 400 years old, how on earth would you know what she looks like if no one has really ever laid eyes on her?" Anna asked in between coughs. She covered her mouth coughing louder and Mariah sneezed moving away from the room. "Well, other than the excessive smell of black magic surrounding this place just look at her picture, I mean really look at it, this is not natural beauty or youth, " Abigail muttered clearing her throat once more.

My fingers brush against something different. A rolled vellum. My breath hitches as I carefully extract it, unrolling it with trembling hands. The paper is aged yet well-preserved, and as it unfurls, a painted portrait comes into view. A woman. She is breathtakingly beautiful with delicate features, ethereal eyes that seem to hold untold secrets and an enigmatic smile. Who is she?

A fireplace that hadn't been lit. And on the far wall, where the light from the high window fell at a long angle, a portrait. I walked toward it slowly. The painting was large, formal, the kind commissioned for official pack records. A woman in her mid-thirties, dark-haired, dark-eyed, wearing the pale grey of a pack ward rather than a ranked wolf's colours. She was painted standing rather than seated, which was unusual, her hands folded in front of her, her expression composed and direct and slightly sad in a way that felt too specific to be the painter's interpretation.