Greta traced the walls one by one, her steps slow as she wandered down the mansion's main hall, bathed in the glow of Serathia's midday sun. Light spilled through tall stone-framed windows, bouncing off pale marble floors, and making the thin veil of dust dance in the air. The place felt warmer than it had any right to, sunlight forcing its way into a house that had been shut tight for far too long.
She tilted her head back, eyes roaming over the endless line of paintings. Dozens, maybe hundreds if you counted the other corridors. Portraits of men in stiff formal dress, hunting scenes frozen mid-action, snowy mountain landscapes, and canvases whose colors had begun to fade with age. Everything was surprisingly well-kept, considering Matthias hadn't set foot in this mansion for nearly ten years.
But one painting pulled her in harder than the rest.
