It was a portrait of a woman.
In the painting, a woman stood. She was dressed in exquisite clothing and she was beautiful, but her eyes... They were pained and sad.
Her beautiful eyes held so much pain and agony even though her face remained straight. It was heartbreaking that though her face revealed nothing, her eyes revealed so many emotions.
Aristia's heart clenched tightly in pain and she held back a gasp, refraining at the last second from touching her chest. Why did it hurt so much?
Slowly, her hand touched her chest. A sob made its way up her throat. She was staring piercingly at the painting. She wanted to avert her eyes, but somehow, she couldn't.
A piercing pain shot up her head. Her eyes closed and images flashed through her head, but she couldn't grasp any. They were all blurry.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
A voice startled her and brought her out of whatever trance she was in. She turned around to see an old man with a cane.
"Huh?" She asked.
