Portrait Of An Unknown Woman Novels & Stories

It's as though someone packed away a life and then forgot about it. But it's the large portrait above the desk that stops me in my tracks. It's of a woman, her features strikingly familiar. Dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, a confident tilt to her head-it's almost like looking at a female version of Nathan. The resemblance is uncanny. Could this be his mother? I step closer, drawn to the painting. The woman's expression is both soft and commanding, a mixture of strength and vulnerability. It feels like she's staring straight at me, her eyes holding secrets I can't begin to decipher.

It was as if they were looking at a ghost. “Is it just me, or are the people here a little...odd?” Shia whispered to his highness as they walked hand in hand inside the manor. His lips curved into a smile, “You will find out soon enough why they are so shocked to see you.” As they entered into the manor’s receiving room, Shia, Khailis and Langrion’s gaze fell into the life-size portrait of a woman that hung by the wall. She was probably in her late teens or early-twenties. She looked quite dignified in the commissioned portrait with her wavy, silver hair flowing against the wind.

On the dark cedar counter near the bath entrance, a collection of delicate glass vials containing sweet-smelling floral oils sits beside a single silver-framed portrait. I roll closer, my large hand picking up the frame. I stare intensely at the image. The young female in the glass is completely bare-faced, devoid of the heavy royal cosmetics they plastered onto her dark skin at the altar. She looks agonizingly delicate, her slim collarbones pronounced, her dark features soft, and her wide, expressive eyes holding a deep, fierce intelligence that calls directly to my predatory nature. Suddenly, the heavy glass door of the bath clicks open.

"Which category does she fall into?" "All of them," Kaelen said. "Simultaneously. That's what makes her dangerous." They were nearly at the door when Zariel stopped. A portrait hung in the corridor just outside the archive room, half-shadowed, easy to miss unless you were looking for it. A woman, dark-haired, elegant, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and patience, the kind of face that seemed like it had been mid-sentence when the painter captured it. "Who is this?"

Then I saw her. The painting covered almost half the wall. A woman — young, maybe my age, with light hair and a soft mouth and eyes that the painter had gotten exactly right in a way that made me think whoever did it had known her personally. She wasn't posed stiffly the way portraits usually are. She looked like she'd just turned toward something and the painter had caught her mid-turn, mid-thought, mid-something that belonged to her alone. Below the frame, a small plate. Luna Lyra. Beloved.

The air itself seems to whisper questions I cannot yet answer. And then I see her. In the far corner, on a simple wooden easel, the unfinished portrait of the woman from the gallery leans slightly forward, as if aware of my presence. Her face is frozen mid-thought, with incomplete hands and a background only partially painted, evidence of a sudden interruption. I stop, taking a careful step closer. The brushstrokes speak of patience, of skill, and of an emotional depth that trembles just below the surface.

The Hallway concluded with a large window, adorned with white sheer curtains that looked out over the East side of the habitation. Nonetheless, of all the beautiful arrangements, the wall decorations are what truly captured Cara. The walls beheld various grayscale portraits of men and women in what Cara found to be very exposing outfits and erotic positions. On one picture frame, there was a woman with darkened lips and a lace mask on her eyes. She was seated in a chair, her legs spread apart, her arms bound behind her back. There was a man standing behind her, and though Cara couldn't see his face or body, she saw his strong fingers wrapped around the woman's throat.

RATED The room was dimly lit, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioner. The Unknown Woman, a woman of immense power and influence, sat on her plush couch, sipping a drink and smirking to herself. She wasn't someone to back out when her desires weren't fulfilled and as a woman who always got what she wanted, she knew she was going to get everything back no matter the cost. Just as she was starting to relax, there was a knock at the door.

I stared at it in worry and confusionm I opened the lid and inside was another box, smaller but brown. I tried to open that one but the lid was too hard to open, I used a knife to pop it open. Sitting inside were pictures. I picked the first one and stared at it. The figure was hardly recognizable because the woman had her hesd bowed down low. She was naked and her dark hair fell all over the place covering her face. I dropped the picture aside and took the next picture. Now the woman was chained to an X on the wall, she was staring straight into the camera like a siren and there was a smile on her face.

She does as she's told to. She sits there nervously and waits for him to come back. This place looks much vibrant than his palace but the dullness is still there. If she never met him, she would've never realized that a house can be this silent. How does he even manage to live all alone here. She turns her head to see the big frame on the wall. A portrait of a beautiful woman in her mid twenties. Her brunette hair falling in waves as she smiles at the camera. So beautiful! She wonders.