The Art Behind a Murder

Chapter Ten - Burnt to a Crisp

I took the book out of my bag and quickly sat it down on the desk, hoping nothing would happen. Flicking through, I saw the portrait of Lady Anastasia. The sight of the painting filled me with anxiety and grief - reminding me of the pain it inflicted.

The fireplace beside me crackled, almost as if it was whispering in my ear. Glancing between the two, I decided I should dispose of the page to rid those negative feelings haunting me.

The page was difficult to tear out, but after a bit of yanking I managed to get it free. Her face smirked at me as I held it near the fire - even in her portrait's death she is cocky. Without hesitation I threw the page into the fire, and watched the flames consume it. The pages curled and recoiled as the heat touched it - eventually burning out to a pile of ashes.

Hopefully now I won't be reminded of what happened...

To take my mind off the book, I wandered over to my wardrobe to pick something to wear to go Eliza's house. This will do... I picked out a light pink dress with roses lined around the hems. I wanted to look my best as she was unbelievably rich, and I wouldn't want her to see me as a peasant - not that I'd ever reach her degree of regality.

As I made my way over to her residence, my mind slipped away, drowning out the sound of the horse hooves clattering against the cobblestone and the frantic mumble of the paper boys running back to their workplace - I assumed their shift was over, as they never usually run with such haste.

Once again, my mind wandered to the book. Where does the power come from? What is it for? Why am I the one to have it?

I had so many questions, but not a single answer. I knew that I had to find whoever sent the letter - and urgently.