The hero is a portrait

The cover was made by a cute girl named Rourouzi in Bishui 233

Finally, this article targets

Content tags: fantasy, magic, horror, fast travel

Search keywords: Protagonist: Portrait┃Supporting role: Painter, General, Your Majesty┃Others: Little Bitch

☆、01 Self-portrait of a painter

Bonn sat in front of the half-length mirror, facing the frustrated young painter in the mirror.There was the weariness of excessive anxiety on that face, and the depression of chronic poverty.

There is a paper knife on the washstand, and the bathroom with easels looks very cramped.Death will rewrite a person's appearance, corpse spots, skin loss of elasticity, cold skin, autolysis...Only a painting can make a person immortal.

Bonn made the final adjustments to the self-portrait by scraping away the paint with a palette knife.He placed the painting in a cheap frame on a bed in his inner room.The youth in the painting is peaceful and tired, and the numb eyes no longer have any symbol of pain or happiness.

Bonn cut his wrist with a paper knife and lay flat on the cold and dirty ground.All around him are unsellable paintings—looking more like the work of a carpenter than a painter.

He closed his eyes.

It was early morning when he woke up, and the watchman walked past the window lonely, and the dim light reflected the space in a blue.The blood on the wrist had solidified, and the blood that flowed down stained the floor.When he stood up, his eyes darkened for a while, and he couldn't help holding onto the edge of the bed.When his gaze was raised slightly, it happened to land on the portrait.

A strange shudder paralyzed his heart for a moment... What did he see?The painter's eyes widened, and then he lit the remaining candle.

The fluttering light from the flames shone on the bed, presenting the portrait in its entirety—still slightly messy hair, still tired eyes with dark circles...but it was completely different, it was the same face so different from him!

The frustration and depression were replaced by a beautiful melancholy.The scenes constructed in it—a rough coffee table, a tea set with missing corners—have a sense of life's embarrassment that permeates it, replaced by a careless grace.His slender fingers are hooked on the handle of the porcelain cup, and his elbows are leaning on the table, as if a country gentleman enjoying afternoon tea, he looks lonely because he doesn't wait for anyone.

Such a painting is not so strange, only Embo knows how special it is - at the moment when he was lying on the ground waiting to die, this portrait changed!The person in the painting is still his face, still the same posture, but he has become another person!

Owning such a work does not seem to alleviate Embo's poverty.For no one would believe such a queer thing, and to others it would be a rather sophisticated work that might fetch a good price, but was far from a masterpiece.But it ignited a cluster of flames in Embo's heart - look at the young man in the mirror, pale, powerless face, numb and flat expression, it looks like just a rustic and unattractive low-level person, long-term The failure even wiped out the youthful vigor in his eyes.However, it is clearly the same face, why is it that only the posture line has become smoother, and the slight change in the expression between the eyebrows can reveal a dangerous charm?

He never thought he would have such a lovely face.

En Bo tidied up the room weakly. The morning light came out, but the room was still very dim—this kind of cheap living room hardly gets sunlight all year round.He moved the self-portrait to the window and looted all the dust accumulated over the years.In the past, despite his energy and idleness, he would choose to worry about his future instead of cleaning up, and when he was bleeding and probably passed out, he seemed to be wound up. Pocket watch, I can't stop my hands.

By the time the room was cleaned, the morning light had completely enveloped the self-portrait.

Embo was about to move the portrait back, but he stood two feet away from the portrait in surprise—still the same pose, still the same face, but the portrait changed again.

Such a lazy expression... How can I describe it?As if he was enjoying the sunshine comfortably.A condescending and careless expression emerged from the corners of his eyes.En Bo felt that his blood was slightly hot, and he felt this mysterious shock again.

At this moment, he who chose to commit suicide for the sake of poverty seemed out of reach, and he felt that his life had undergone great changes.

For a moment, he actually hoped that the man in the picture frame would look back at him... But unfortunately, it was just a portrait.Perhaps some mysterious power had transformed it beyond science, but what he could feel was the paint rather than the texture of the skin.

What is the secret to changing the portrait?For a moment, En Bo observed his hand in disbelief, and he remembered that the painter in the oriental legend had the ability to make everything he painted come alive because of the blessing of the gods. Could it be that death gave him a special painting ability?This made him excited to try, but when he picked up the brush again, his mind was blank.

But he did not feel discouraged, but considered the daily chores with the utmost patience.

He knew that he was different from most people, and he had a great secret.

And an unknown secret, the more dangerous it is, the more valuable it is.

☆、02 Self-portrait of a painter

En Bo walked in the dark night, the ground under his feet was very soft, with occasional gravel piercing his feet, reminding him that he was not walking in the void.

Everything was so dark that the stars in the night sky were like empty eyes whose light never seemed to reach the ground.He heard the swaying of the twisted branches like steel, and the hard sound of the leaves like black iron sheets.When he looked in the direction of the sound, he only saw a darker outline in the darkness.

Then he came to an unnamed tomb, and, moved by a special passion, he dug the dirt from it with his hands.

The soft touch of the soil is like white clouds, and digging up the grave doesn't seem to be more difficult than digging out the white clouds.When he opened the dark coffin, he didn't know why in the darkness, he could see the person lying in the coffin so clearly - he could even see the slightly curved eyebrows at the end of his eyebrows.

Embo couldn't imagine his death into a beautiful image, distorted face, swollen corpse, landlord's scolding... He even felt the same fear of the time after death.When the soul is liberated, the body is like a poor orphan abandoned in this cold world, suffering the merciless whipping of reality.

But this "Enbo" lying quietly in the coffin in the dark starry night is as beautiful as a rose with night dew.With his hands folded in front of his belly, his expression was so quiet and sweet.

...It is obviously the same face, why is it so different?

He reached out to touch the face and felt the coldness of an imaginary corpse.His arms trembled for a while, but his heart had the illusion of being pierced by an electric current.Cold, delicate skin.He wanted to see how this body was different from his own. He unbuttoned the "corpse" and saw a chest that was as thin as his own.Those muscles that looked so weak on his body produced an extremely fragile beauty because of the posture of the "corpse".

... It is incredible, is this the result of his projecting libido onto himself, as Freud thought?

But when he looked in the mirror, he was often ashamed of the timidity of his face and the emaciation of his body, and he was not as dazed and amazed as he was at this moment.This cold skin is so different from his. This body seems to be on the verge of destruction, so all the fragility in him has an extremely exciting beauty.

The dead body, the extreme darkness, the coffin... It occurred to him that this was an excellent portrait.When he realized this, the entire universe was turned upside down, and the stars spun underground.He was inexplicably touched, and when he wanted to kiss that cold self, he suddenly woke up from the dream.

The portrait hanging on the wall still maintains the posture of preparing for afternoon tea, the lip line is not much different from the original melancholy flat arc, but Embo felt a reserved smile.

It was a kind of smug smile that seemed to have succeeded in a prank but had to be indifferent, and seemed to be careless.

He has been inspired by greatness, and a wonderful and shocking work is brewing in his mind.

However, the sad thing is that he doesn't have the ability to make it born—a clumsy third-rate painter is like a third-rate writer with limited words. It makes people feel dull and boring.

But you can't expect everyone to be a genius. In the painting world, someone who can become a master painter in ten years like Picasso is already a genius.And this sad poor young man is just a poor painter who can't afford a model.

Of course, you can also try to paint some low-level characters, they may be excellent models for some painters, but obviously, as an impractical romantic patient, Embo cannot hear the call of the muse from these people.

En Bo was walking aimlessly on the street. At this moment, a group of solemn men carrying the coffin passed by, followed by women in black suits with white lilies pinned to their chests.Embo glanced at the portrait of the deceased—a young and lovely face at that time. Embo had a slight impression that it seemed to be a girl from a certain middle class.But what made him shudder was not the disappearance of the young life he had met once, but a strange idea that suddenly appeared in his mind.

It was this idea that made him stand in a part of the cemetery with a shovel in his hand, avoiding the grave guards at Linkou on a dark night with a full moon.He didn't dare to light the lantern, but during the day he had memorized the terrain and the location of the coffin.He pried open the coffin, and the corpse inside was still fresh, as if there were still signs of life left.

The dark clouds that cover the moonlight from time to time make everything on the earth so obscure.The carefully dressed girl lay quietly in the coffin, her face hazy in the middle of the moon was more beautiful than in memory.She looked wonderful, exactly what he had imagined of beauty, and the darkness of the night tempered the cruel shadow of death.

He carefully examined the girl's appearance, posture and color, imagining what kind of paint should be used to blend out the color of her skin... However, in such a dark night, those lines that should have been clear seemed to be hidden.In order to better understand the model in front of him, the painter reaches out to touch...

He carefully touched every inch of the girl's skin hidden in the shadows. The skin under his hands that lost its elasticity was so cold that it seemed to carry the biting cold of the underworld.A sense of fear hovered over his head...not caused by the coldness of the corpse and the silent cemetery, but the sudden heat that appeared in his heart made him fearful.

He couldn't concentrate on admiring that girl, because the corpse-like "self" in his dream was constantly appearing in his mind.The illusory touch in the dream seemed to reach his palm through the cold corpse beneath him... What a crazy and tortured experience.

Embo spent several memorable nights with the "model girl" before her body rotted.

That night when he returned to his humble home, he looked at the portraits on the wall in a daze.His eyes cast indifferently to the distance, and there was a cold and mysterious smile on the corner of his mouth.What was he thinking about?En Bo was a little dazed, his fingers touched the face of the person in the painting, which was the texture of the canvas after being painted with paint.

No matter how much you look like a person, it is just a portrait.Even though he said this to himself in his heart, En Bo still couldn't help staring at the man in the painting.It was really painful, and every time he touched the cold skin of the corpse, it was as if he was touching his lifeless love.His fingers slid across the man's delicate chin, he showed a beautiful neckline, he unbuttoned a buttoned shirt to reveal the collarbone...

It is still the texture of a painted canvas, but imagination and desire make the young body react...

En Bo backed away in horror, almost fleeing for his life, and hid in the bathroom hastily.He doused himself with icy cold water before peeling off his wet clothes.He looked at the pale young man in the mirror, and felt that he had regained his composure.

He tried to think about his own art, which gradually poured out, the inspiration that was about to pour out of his soul.He has already outlined the outline of the painting, although the jerky brushwork makes him not have much confidence, but with his further understanding of the human body, he has already felt the approach of the muse.

He wiped off the cold water droplets on his body, and since he was alone, he walked out of the bathroom naked without paying attention.He had planned to go to bed alone and sleep.But when he was about to bend down to put out the gas lamp, he saw the portrait on the wall again.

The man's squinting gaze never focused on him, but seemed to be looking somewhere in the painting, but he felt a vague gaze, as if he was scanning him from the corner of his eye.The original indifferent and mysterious smile of the man in the portrait was replaced by a half-smile.

It was a very elegant and playful smile, which made the artist blush instantly.

He hurriedly lowered his head and hurriedly put on his pants.

☆、03 Self-portrait of a painter

The girl glanced out the window as the car drove past Sofia Street.She lifted the rose-colored car curtain with her fingers, and there was a kind of innocent and unconscious curiosity in her expression.At that moment, the whole world seemed to turn black and white, only the pink of her face bloomed.

That was Ophelia, the daughter of Justice Soames, a naive and romantic daughter who was very different from her famously cruel and corrupt father.She disappeared after she escaped from the golden cage-like castle with her maid to chase the butterflies in the mountains.

Now this girl is lying quietly in this very simple living room, her pure white dress looks like a lily just blooming.With her eyes closed, she seemed to be asleep, as quiet and sweet as a mimosa.This is the best image of beauty. The composition of the tomb is too dark. Only such a sweet and carefree face can dispel the darkness and corruption in it, injecting romantic fragrance into this Gothic painting.

In order to avoid waking up the stunned girl with large movements, the painter cut her dress with scissors.The delicate and soft fabric fell to the ground like broken butterfly wings.The last ray of sunlight receded from the corner of the portrait frame, the curtains were drawn, and the easel was angled.A self-portrait unloaded from an easel is propped against a high-backed chair.

In the twilight of the light and the twilight that has not completely receded on the white curtains, the girl's skin is as beautiful as white jade.

It felt good, the feeling of being in the presence of a muse.When the outline of the brush gradually becomes clear, when the paint on the canvas shows the texture it can show... everything is so just right.Her ebony black curly hair is scattered, and her slightly parted red lips are like blooming roses, double.The breasts carry the youthful vigor of a girl...

Obviously, the more you pay attention to the more beautiful "model", the painter feels an inexplicable irritability.

He sensed the presence of another gaze... a portrait.Although the man's eyeballs in the painting cannot move, he can still feel the man's unwavering gaze.His eyebrows seemed to be raised slightly, revealing a kind of restrained surprise.And the deep eyes under the curly bangs are like violets in full bloom, which are unstoppable.

The rigid and unchanging lines hindered his emotional expression, but the painter still felt a kind of enthusiasm from it.His self-portrait is taking an interest in that "female model."A strange imagination hit him... If he drew the girl in front of him, would she meet him in the painting?

This imagining was extremely disgusting, and even gave him a slight abdominal pain immediately.

……

He felt much better when he plunged the sharpened pencil into the girl's main artery.

The girl opened her eyes vaguely, apparently still not understanding what happened, she wanted to scream, but blood flooded her throat and flowed into her lungs.She widened her watery eyes, looked innocently at the world, and finally lay down quietly.

Well, now nothing can stop great inspiration from appearing on the canvas.

And even if the girl appears in the world in the painting, she is just a quiet corpse.In order to make the image of death beautiful, the painter painted every drop of blood into a rose.When he excitedly put down the last stroke, he suddenly shivered.

He threw himself next to the cool body, and reached out his hand in disbelief to cover the blood that seemed to still be warm.

He looked blankly at the wetness in his hands, and then looked at the self-portrait in horror—the man in the painting was watching him cautiously, with a haughty and suspicious expression.Hey, he's just a portrait. Since he was painted, he has never left this room. He doesn't even know what death and murder are.

The painter's heart softened inexplicably, and he suddenly felt that he did not regret his actions.He couldn't help reaching out to touch the face of the man in the painting, and suddenly blood was left on it.

damn—

When the painter was in a hurry to wipe off the bloodstains, those bloodstains, like red slender reptiles, got into the canvas.

The blood is absorbed by the portrait.

The painter seemed in disbelief, but the portrait could indeed drink blood.It even sucked up all the girl's blood... When the moisture in the corpse was completely drained, just a slight shock of the air turned the wax figure-like corpse into dust.

At the same time as a shocking masterpiece, the disappearance of the justice's only daughter, Ophelia.

Death, which should have been horrific or full of tragedy, is depicted so purely and beautifully, it is simply fascinating. This painting is considered to be the first of its kind in neoclassicism. The exhibition of "Girl of Death" achieved an unprecedented victory, compared with the works of other outstanding painters in the exhibition, it only became a foil.

Embo was not worried that the girl in the painting would be recognized as Ophelia, because the roses blooming from her neck covered almost 1/3 of the girl's face, and the girl's face was combined with Embo's fantasy, not It's the real Ophelia's face.

However, he didn't know the horror and anger that Justice Soames felt at the moment when he stood in front of this portrait!

Yes, it wasn't his daughter's face, but he was naked from that.Lu recognized traces of her daughter in her female body!It was indeed his daughter's body, without even a little pretense!

But what would it mean if he couldn't find his kidnapped daughter from that brute's room?

Your Honor set fire to the painter's room and was about to use all his powers to mobilize officers to round him up.He has already thought of countless ways to make this dirty man's life worse than death. Unless he tells the whereabouts of his daughter, he will make him regret coming to this world!

However, when the judge led the prosecutor away, he did not find a young man hiding in a dark alley, and sneaked back to the burning room.

The painter walked through the burning corridor, the door had been smashed.He was choked by the smoke and coughed non-stop, but he rushed to the self-portrait desperately.In this scorching space, the paint on the portrait seems to be a little ruined.However, the man in the portrait is still drinking afternoon tea very calmly, but the artist noticed that although his gesture of holding the teacup has not changed, a button of his shirt cuff has been unbuttoned.

His heart suddenly beat violently, but he didn't know if it was due to lack of oxygen.

The air became even worse, and when he untied the painting, the corridor was completely engulfed in flames.

With this mysterious portrait, the painter felt invincible, but the paint on the painting began to deteriorate due to the high temperature.It's likely to break because of it.When the tongue of fire licks people's skin, it just leaves ugly scars on it, but when the flames eat away at the canvas, the lost part can never grow back.

...Will he be injured, or even die?

As it became more and more difficult to breathe, the artist didn't know whether it was because of the flames or anxiety that he was sweating all over his body.

No matter what, he wanted to protect "him".

The painter jumped onto the window sill that was still cool, and took a last look at the room where he had lived for three years - it was full of his sadness of being underappreciated and his struggle to be mediocre.But unexpectedly, he didn't have the slightest nostalgia, and instead felt that the future was bright.

He held the portrait tightly in his arms, and then jumped off the window sill.

Blood seeped out silently, and the portrait held in the arms of the young man leaned against the corpse, facing the sky sideways.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew, and the portrait flew out of the frame.On the floating scroll, the face similar to the dead young man revealed a graceful, cruel ironic smile.

For demons, harming humans does not bring them energy, and only fallen souls are the sacrifices they really demand.

To die so stupidly and so easily...was a waste of his efforts.

……

The portrait was reduced to powder little by little and disappeared into the air.

The author has something to say: Gothic style...

And the hero is a little bitch =. =

☆、04 Portrait of a beautiful boy

Lord Beckett was enjoying his afternoon tea at Wickes Manor, accompanied by an oil painting - this oil painting first fell into the hands of his aunt Mrs Sevening for some reason, and was finally begged by him.

Filling two milky white Chinese porcelain cups with emerald green tea, Lord Beckett placed one of them in front of the portrait very smoothly.The male waiter at the side had already seen the surprise, and put the freshly washed cherries in the tray on the coffee table.

Of course, the portrait cannot be eaten or drunk. However, when the servant retreated and only Lord Beckett was under the quiet shade of the tree, a teacup appeared out of nowhere in the hand of the well-behaved person sitting on the chair. It was exactly the same as the Chinese porcelain cup that Lord Beckett had picked up from the Victoria—the originally immature face also showed a kind of mischievous leisure.

This is a secret that only he knows. When other people are around, the portrait is just a normal portrait.

Lord Beckett had a doting smile on his lips, and his deep eyes looked at the person in the painting fascinatedly with a smile—it was a young boy who had not yet grown up, and his appearance was bright and beautiful, surpassing the roses of England.He had hair as brilliant as pure gold that shone brighter than the afternoon sun, and eyes blue with a sly innocence.

... When he saw this portrait in the residence of the Duke of Severining, he was already deeply fascinated by its heroic appearance.At first he thought it was the painter's wonderful artistic technique that moved him, but in fact it was the natural temperament of the people in the painting that moved his heart.

If Lord Beckett was in love, noble ladies all over London would laugh--the haughty Lord Beckett, always inadvertently taunting, was at the top of the black list of noble girls.No matter how much a girl who loves vanity, she can't stand his cold eyes looking down at others, and his seemingly innate mocking tone.So Lord Beckett, although young, handsome and important, is still a bachelor.

[You should really be happy about your beauty, after all it is your only good point. ]

Lord Beckett, who also had the same dying accent for the famous "English Rose", wiped the non-existing dust on the picture frame with a silk handkerchief very gently - making such a gesture. The action was nothing more than that he was slightly sweating because of the temperature in the afternoon.As if sensing his thoughtfulness, the person in the painting, who should not be able to feel the temperature, showed a somewhat hot look, and then smiled at the Lord outside the frame.

Afterwards, the two of them stopped interacting. Lord Beckett opened a book on the table and began to read, while the boy in the portrait rested his chin with one hand, leaned lazily, and yawned.It's just that the weather is changeable. An hour later, the sky turned cloudy and it suddenly began to rain.The leaves rustled in the sky, but the raindrops couldn't fall for a while.Fearing, however, that rain might splash on the portrait, Lord Beckett took off his coat and covered the frame.

The servant who was supposed to be waiting not far away had disappeared, but the rain suddenly started to fall. Lord Beckett had no time to pick up his cane, and hurried to the castle not far away with the portrait in his arms.The aristocratic demeanor prevented him from running away from his identity, but he was worried that the portrait would get wet, and his steps became more and more hurried.

"Owner……"

The servant inside the door came over in a panic. Lord Beckett quickly inspected the portrait and found that it was not wet, so the sullen expression on his face eased.He saw the boy in the painting pretending to be sitting on the chair again, posing his original shape, and couldn't help smiling.

"Okay, help me move the portrait to the bedroom."

In order to prevent the servant from accidentally knocking on the portrait, Lord Beckett specially asked two people to carry this light portrait.Lord Beckett was a little embarrassed by the shower, he went to the bathroom to wash up and changed his clothes.At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon, a theater manager came to visit and invited him to go to the theater to enjoy the repertoire in the evening.Lord Beckett agreed to come down—seeing that this theater had helped him spend a lot of time, not wasting time.The manager asks Lord Beckett to go backstage to see the new opera singer—a young man he thinks will be popular—and Lord Beckett refuses because he is fond of the man in the painting.

Seeing Lord Beckett coming in wearing a nightgown, the boy in the painting tilted his head, and then changed himself into a nightgown.

This kind of imitation has a kind of intimate ambiguity. Lord Beckett looked at the beautiful collarbone protruding from the skirt of his nightgown, and exhaled slowly.He opened the window to avoid attracting mosquitoes and wanted to turn off the lamp, but he didn't want to lose his view of the portrait.In the end, he just lit the cigar with a match, and his voice became a little hoarse after taking a puff:

"Have a bite?"

Even though he knew that the portrait could not answer him, he made a gesture to pass the cigar over.He saw the boy in the painting looking at him in confusion, and then conjured a cigar in his hand, smoking it in imitation of him.The way his beautiful white fingers match the cigar has a strong contrasting beauty—like putting roses and white bones together—and the eyes that can't help squinting when he smokes the cigar have a natural charm.

Lord Beckett twitched his Adam's apple, turned his head and took a quick puff on his cigar.

The taste from bitter to sweet, and finally mixed with the aroma of cigars into a sweet and unspeakable taste of bitterness, just like this special love affair.

……

In the early morning, Lord Beckett woke up and habitually looked towards the side of the KingSize bed, leaning against the picture frame at the head of the bed, the blond boy was lying on the same bed, his sleeping posture was not very good, and his whole body was twisted. Terrific, the skirts were scattered, revealing a milky white chest, perhaps because the twisting of the waist tightened the muscles, faintly revealing the mermaid line...

Such a scene is too beautiful, and it is such a sensitive moment in the morning... Lord Beckett groaned in pain and fell back on the bed.

But when he saw the person in the painting waking up and smiling vaguely at him, the lust on his face was replaced by tenderness:

"Good morning."

At the gracious invitation of the manager of the Times Theater—and also out of respect for Shakespeare—Lord Beckett went to enjoy the opera "Romeo and Juliet". little interest.

You must know that although a successful opera can be staged in full swing for more than ten years, a play like "Romeo and Juliet" is too "classic".It is also very difficult to perform such a familiar opera with a refreshing effect.

In the VIP box, Lord Beckett became a little impatient—he didn't think that the manager would waste his time by inviting him to watch this opera that had no bright spots in terms of plot modification or actors' performances.Just when Lord Beckett was about to stop wasting time and go home to accompany the portrait, "Romeo", who had been on the stage for a long time, appeared on the stage with a melodious singing——

Blonde hair, blue eyes like the sky after the rain.On the white skin is a youthful smile full of vitality - that kind of smile has a strong sensibility, as if by magic, it makes everyone feel kind to him in an instant.

Seeing Lord Beckett's shocked expression, the manager knew he had made the right bet——

The boy in front of him was exactly the same as the boy in the portrait in Lord Beckett's collection.

The author has something to say: I kind of want to write about ABO...especially AA...

☆、05 Portrait of a beautiful boy

It was known all over London that Karen Jesso became Lord Beckett's favorite.Those who met him must marvel at the generosity the Creator poured out upon him.For Karen Jesso, Lord Beckett is perfect. Even if he felt uneasy and repulsed by this relationship between men at first, he had to be fascinated by Beckett's focused eyes and the love he brought to him. In great glory.

Just a few comments published by Beckett in the Times newspaper made Karen Jesso reach the peak of the opera world-countless people came here just to appreciate Karen Jesso's performance, countless Flowers and love letters flooded his lounge.At the same time, he bid farewell to the simple apartment building and the days of living together with others, and the brightly painted carriage will take him into any high-end place.

"Beckett..."

When Beckett put his hand on his hand, and his fingertips touched the edge of his nails, his dim eyes were a little wet because of half-down eyelashes, as if he was touching something incredible. , The thing he dreamed of, he seemed so moved and so wronged.

Karen's heart softened, and he even felt an inexplicable feeling of pity.

"I am here."

He grabbed Beckett's hand and placed it on his fresh cheeks, eyes as blue as blooming cornflowers smiled and stared at Lord Beckett.

Beckett's hand caressed his face, stroking his slightly throbbing neck artery...

What a real touch!Exactly the same people!

He could no longer restrain his desire, and continued to play the role of a well-dressed gentleman, but hugged Karen tightly in his arms.His cool lips fell on Karen's body, and it turned out to be extremely hot.Karen hesitated for a moment, then responded enthusiastically...

Karen Jesso's access to Wesker Manor seemed so natural.

He can enjoy the afternoon tea at Wesker Manor, take a nap on the pure white terrace, and even enjoy Lord Beckett's exclusive bathroom... However, he is not allowed to enter a room.

A portrait must be painted according to the face of the model, right?

Lord Beckett wanted to ask Karen Jesso about the portrait, and even wanted to find out the whereabouts of the painter, but he felt inexplicably uneasy.It has been a long time since he was in the warm arms of Karen Jesso, taking it to enjoy the afternoon sun, or go for a walk in the rose garden.

He kept it in the piano room, and in fact that room was locked away by him for a long time.

However, the person in the painting had already appeared in front of his eyes, touching that gentle skin, but his mind couldn't help showing his appearance in the painting.

. . . His craving continued and was not satisfied.

He pushed open the piano room, and saw the person in the picture frame looking out of the window with his back to the world outside the picture, bored.His motionless back looks very listless.Through the window in the painting, he sees the sweltering afternoon garden.he