Art83d

  The Portrait's Secret

Lady Catherine had sat for countless portraits, but this one felt different. The photographer insisted on the abandoned east wing, where dust motes danced in the single shaft of light piercing the gloom.

"Perfect stillness," he murmured, disappearing beneath his black cloth. "Just like the original."

She frowned. "Original?"

The camera clicked. The room spun.

Catherine gasped, finding herself standing where the photographer had been, staring at the ornate chair. A woman in an identical black gown sat frozen, eyes glazed—a woman with her face.

On the wall behind the chair hung dozens of portraits. All women. All in the same dress. All wearing her expression of dawning horror.

The photographer's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere: "Thank you for breaking the curse. One hundred years is a long time to pose."

Catherine ran to the door, but her reflection in the darkened window stopped her cold. She was fading, becoming translucent, becoming... paint.

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