I keep staring at the painting, at a loss for words.
That woman is sitting straight and fierce like a queen, a hand on her white wolf. Is that wolf meant to be her other shape? Or just a pet? Her dress is as white as its fur, sparkling and spotless. But more than that, I am mesmerized by her eyes. The very same color as mine, a very peculiar night blue shade. If the portrait wasn’t so large, it may not have been as obvious, but this one is covering the whole wall, making it bigger than human size. I can very clearly see each and every detail of her face. A face so much like mine.
The more I look, the less I can believe it. If it wasn’t for a few details, this could even be taken as my spitting image. But that woman doesn’t have my scar, and a few of her traits are different, too. H
