Hidden Portrait
Aria pushed open the study door to return a borrowed book, the scent of old paper and charcoal filling her lungs. Silas stood frozen at his easel, a stick of charcoal slipping from his fingers. On the paper was her face—not as she saw herself, but with eyes full of a yearning she’d only dreamed of. 'It’s not what you think,' he said, his voice rough. She stepped closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. 'Then what is it, Silas?' she whispered, her gaze locked on the drawing that laid his soul bare.