The Portrait Of A Lady Novels & Stories

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.

Chapter 41: Transformation ARIEL'S POV I swallowed a lump, feeling my heart misbehave as I watched Ravenna take out the two medium-sized paintings. One was of a sophisticated-looking lady in a red gown, standing in a garden of roses, gently touching the flowers. She looked… content. I had fallen in love with the portrait at first glance because I loved roses. But when I saw him buy it, I was confused—most of the ones in his room had darker themes.

Picturing how she'd have looked at Lucian, smiling and drawing, ick me so much. "A lady drew it?" I hissed, folding my arms across my chest. "No wonder it's not fine." Who was I kidding? It was really out of jealousy. The portrait was beautiful, and Lucian really looked handsome, but my jealousy didn't allow me to appreciate the lady's effort. "You must be kidding me. Do you know the number of ladies back then who were drooling over this portrait?" he asked, making my jealousy multiply. "Oh really? I didn't know about that," I said sarcastically.

After that, the door opened and a lady stepped in, holding a wrapped portrait. She sauntered toward me with haughty struts and a smile curved at her lips—the kind of smile I normally received from women which I never appreciated. "Good morning, Mr Gabriel," she greeted as she stopped at my table. Then she placed her hands on the table, leaning forward. I shut down the system I was using to watch Arielle to know what the lady wanted. Just as I raised my head to look at her, my eyes landed on her chest. The upper buttons of her shirt were open, exposing her cleavage. That sultry smile was still etched on her facial features.

Madame Brenda explained enthusiastically, consequently releasing the French-accent in her words. The painting showed a lady that looked like Lianne. Their features were perfectly the same. The color of the eyes. The symmetrical shape of their faces. The curve of her lips. Everything was the same, save the color of Lianne’s hair which was a shade darker. The lady was sitting on a chair holding a bouquet of assorted flowers resting on her lap. Her eyes expressed delight and contentment, of love and devotion. She was wearing an emerald necklace and a flower-printed silk gown with a white rose adorning her left ear.

On the other hand the very fact that she was not unattractive meant that he would likely have plenty of competition for her attention, even with her reputation as a rather fastidious and aloof woman, so he would have to be at his most ingratiating. It was fortunate that Mrs. Younge had provided him with enough information on Mrs. Montcraven's particular tastes to allow him to determine his best approach. He knew she was extraordinarily vain of her appearance and convinced she looked much younger than her 32 years, which explained in part her determination to don pale colors now that her mourning was complete. Tonight it was a lavender dress in the latest fashion, simple yet elegant, but more

Vanity and Chandler looked at the lovely lady who had come to a halt in front of them as they mingled with the guests. She was the epitome of beauty, and Vanity couldn't help but admire this stunning specimen. She'd seen beautiful people before, but none compared to the lady in front of her. She had midnight purple hair that was waist length, making her look like a character from a manga comic. She had a lovely purple lotus mark between her eyes on her forehead, which gave her the appearance of an enchantress. She was the epitome of immortality. No human being will resemble this individual.

We reached the end of the corridor, Lucas’ face turned dark and annoyance was etched into every line of his face. “No.” I was not aware of his one word answer this time however, because there in front of me was the last portrait of the collection. There sitting pride of place over the large double doors sat the biggest portrait in the room. Gazing up I found the beautiful face of Lilith smiling down at me. Her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a Victorian style dress, which puffed out around in a billowing sea of creamy white taffeta. Flowers adorned her neckline, and a book lay gently on her lap. Her eyes the same blue as her children.

"Okay." The auctioneer's voice boomed through the hall: "Ladies and gentlemen, our next item is a stunning piece by Maria Santos. Painted in 1923, this portrait has been called one of the most haunting works of the early twentieth century." Luna looked up at the large screen beside the stage. The painting filled the frame: a woman in a flowing white gown standing in an overgrown garden, her eyes shadowed with secrets, her expression both sorrowful and defiant. Luna felt her breath catch—it was as if the painted woman understood something she herself was only beginning to grasp.

I ordered though half of my heart was in Havana. And there came one of my palace maid running, panting and wailing heavily with terror written all over her face. Oh damn, goddess please take me now. From her expression one could see that there was fire on the mountain. It looked like a volcano erupted on her face. That isn't supposed to be funny. "My Lord!." She called with a teary voice, there's only so much i can take. "What's going on? What is it?." I asked hurriedly.