Month 21st, 1891 — The Magical Portrait Gallery Opening
It was finally the opening of the Gallery and it felt like Louisa couldn't breathe. Looking out from her chosen corner she saw dozens of familiar faces but not a single one of them was living. The hours and days she spent pouring over each portrait as she'd worked with Irene to prepare the art for the opening had done nothing to prepare herself. There was no one to remove her cracked and darkened varnish to make her presentable for the public.
They even wanted her to give a lecture on conservation. Merlin, had no one told them she was the last person they should want representing the gallery? Restoring and conserving? Absolutely. Being present and visible? No. She wouldn't be the one to tell them - an innocent person wouldn’t warn their employer they had a murderous reputation, not of they wanted to keep their job. But really… had no one told them?
Her anxiety displayed only in a slightly strained, blank expression which she only managed to shake when a nearby portrait piped up. "Cheer up, you're ruining the ambiance." It was a fair critique, the portraits themselves must be quite excited for their debut and she was stood there like she was bracing to be runover by a horse drawn cart. Finally snapped out of it, Louisa drew her hands behind her back, pulling her posture into a confident frame only to realize someone was nearby and had likely heard her getting chided by the painting.
They even wanted her to give a lecture on conservation. Merlin, had no one told them she was the last person they should want representing the gallery? Restoring and conserving? Absolutely. Being present and visible? No. She wouldn't be the one to tell them - an innocent person wouldn’t warn their employer they had a murderous reputation, not of they wanted to keep their job. But really… had no one told them?
Her anxiety displayed only in a slightly strained, blank expression which she only managed to shake when a nearby portrait piped up. "Cheer up, you're ruining the ambiance." It was a fair critique, the portraits themselves must be quite excited for their debut and she was stood there like she was bracing to be runover by a horse drawn cart. Finally snapped out of it, Louisa drew her hands behind her back, pulling her posture into a confident frame only to realize someone was nearby and had likely heard her getting chided by the painting.
"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!
They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"
They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"