Portrait Of An Unknown Woman 소설 & 이야기

"When the unknown female attempted to flee, I entered her apartment to comply with the screening protocol we do with all the fugitives we are looking for. I noticed right away that she wanted to burn a sheet of paper, but I was able to save the sheet of paper in time, and upon reviewing it, I knew I had to give it to you. I didn't come earlier because I was sent on a raid on a bar.” Jackson's words made me frown. He stretched the sheet of paper across the table, and what I saw completely surprised me. It was a charcoal portrait of four men, and one of those men was me. “Was there anything else among that woman's things?” “Just a sketchbook of landscapes, animals, and flowers,” Jackson said.

My attention was drawn to vintage portraits and masterpieces, which were almost barely discernible by dirt and grime. I began taking a cautious stride forward while manually trying to calculate the floorboard's sturdiness. Then, with my bare fingers, I slowly and carefully brushed away the cobwebs obscuring the portrait, enabling me to see what the photo had to say. It was a photo of a woman and a child, theoretically a mother and daughter. With her brown and wavy hair, the woman strongly resembles a Goddess of Beauty intricately crafted in the form of a human. But there was just something disturbing and unnerving about her gaze that made the strands on my shoulders and the back of my neck s

A canvas half-hidden by a sheet. “What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward it. Theo stiffens slightly, his jaw tightening. “It’s…nothing. Just some old stuff.” Curiosity gets the better of me. Before he can stop me, I’m on my feet, pulling the sheet away. The painting beneath it takes my breath away. It’s a portrait of a woman, her features soft and kind, her eyes holding a sadness that feels all too real. And eyes that look too familiar. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper.

The delicate emotions hidden in the drawing could even be detected by an outsider like her. It was a woman's profile on the easel, but Mango felt her a little familiar. She kept feeling that she had seen this woman somewhere, but she couldn't remember where she had seen her. That woman should be very beautiful. Mango found a few more portraits under the painting. They all looked like the same woman. For some reason, Mango gently flipped them through, but when she saw the front portrait of the woman, she was completely stunned as if she had been struck by an electric shock.

Here, the woman is happy as a sangirl to this guy who has saved her. At this time, they go to the room where they make a pleasure. Here, Brown is out of mind to this woman. Thus, he would not allow her to be engaged with another guy. Without knowing, this woman has a lot of men who are still taking their hat off on her even if, her profession is prostitution.

Would they feel disappointed after having paid so much for it? The first commission that I had decided to work on was a portrait of a young woman who apparently was the only daughter of one of Hayden’s business partners. She had requested for a realistic portrait of herself based on a photograph where she posed formally in a light pink and very elegant gown. Her chestnut brown hair was piled up on top of her head elegantly and decorated with pink roses. Overall, it was a very elegant and sweet portrait.

“I’m going to take a shower. You’re still sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.” “Hmm.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “What a lovely face you have. You remind me of Pierre Joseph Cooman’s ‘Portrait of A Young Woman.’” I giggled. “Who is that?” “A noted painter in the 19th century. He has paintings of landscapes, historical subjects, and beautiful women. One particular portrait reminds me of your face. She looks like you.” I blushed, no one had ever made me feel so self-conscious before, and I was beginning to get annoyed by it myself. Liam would probably think I was so easy to please. Though, I was actually more surprised by his knowledge and love for the arts.

I heard a scraping sound, and I turned my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner. “What are those?” I ask. He’s staring at one of the pictures, and when I go peek over his shoulder, my face instantly feels hot, and I look away. “That’s p**n! The medieval version of it, anyway.” The red-haired woman is posing in a rather sultry manner, scantily clad. The painting is amateurish in nature. “Will you stop gawking at it?!” I blurted at Robert. “She looks like me!”

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.

Climbing down, I noticed the pictures hanging on the wall, but what caught my interest was a giant portrait of a young woman. She had bright red hair, straight and revealing her forehead. Her eyes were gentle green, glossy pink lips and rosy cheeks. She was dressed like an Edwardian woman, white shirts, long skirts with a red corset and pink gloves. She held her little flower embroidered hat seated on her thighs with a playful smile at the camera. It wasn’t difficult to figure who she was. It was a beautiful piece to admire in Leslie’s childhood home. There was also a name engraved at the bottom of the frame. ‘Katniss Dietrich.”