Whispers of Death
The shade of crimson was like fresh blood, warm and beautiful, as it spread through the basin of cold water, and like blood, it was stubborn, leaving a shadow behind even with so much effort.
Anna frowned when she took out her wet hands and glanced at the bottle of red paint with a conflicted gaze.
Had she borrowed something wrong from Edgar?
A knock on the door made her flinch. She cursed under her breath as she glanced at her unfinished painting. Merida had specially requested her to make at least one painting but the brush strokes were too tiring.
Another hesitant knock had Anna quickly wiping hands on her skirts as she strode across the room.
Merida’s face was a little pale as she curtsied in greeting, Anna instinctively and clumsily followed. The silk shoes would always betray her feet.
“I didn’t expect Miss Mernova to be here,” Merida said with a little worry, “If you want we can take a break for now...”
“Are you sure?”