Chapter 10
657words
Lily still had the face of an eight-year-old, but her eyes held the weariness of a century.
"A new piece by 'L' just sold for a fortune," the gallery manager reported excitedly over the phone. "The buyer would still like to meet you in person."
"No," Lily refused in her childish voice. "Tell them the artist is very old and doesn't see guests."
No one would have guessed that the "Ghost Painter L," who had taken the art world by storm, was actually a monster trapped in the body of a child.
For fifty years, she had lived under a dozen false identities, each painting a scream into the endless night.
Silas approached. "Miss Lily, the car is ready."
"Let's go." Lily hopped off the chair, not sparing a glance for the priceless painting. "Today is the anniversary of Mother's death."
The headstone was already covered in flowers. They were all from her, placed over the years. There were no others.
She expertly cleaned the dust from the headstone, her movements as steady as an old woman's, a strange contrast to her small, delicate hands.
"Mother, I've come to see you."
"I understand now that time is the cruelest curse for me. I have eternal life, but I will never have the chance to grow up."
The wind blew through the cemetery, bringing with it a dead silence.
"I used to hate you for taking away my right to grow up. But now, I understand." She placed her small hand on the cold stone.
"In this clan, growing up means becoming a coward like Miles or a madwoman like Vivienne. You trapped me in childhood, but in doing so, you locked away the purest part of my soul."
From the withered woods nearby came the sharp snap of a dry twig.
Lily didn't turn around.
"Come out, Miles. I know you're there."
In the shadows behind the trees, a ragged figure flinched but didn't move.
Miles, draped in a tattered cloak and covered in grime, didn't dare to approach.
"He still does not have the courage to face me," Lily said softly to the headstone. "He is afraid of me, Mother. He is afraid of my face."
"The moment he sees me, he's reminded of you. And the curse of being a vampire is that our faces never change."
Behind the tree, Miles covered his mouth, sobbing silently.
That face, forever frozen at the age of eight, was the most vicious curse to him. Every glance was a reminder: You destroyed this family.
You drove your wife to her death.
Lily took an unframed canvas from her art tube and gently unrolled it before the headstone.
It was a portrait.
In the painting, a young and noble Isolde wore the high-collared gown she had favored in life, a gentle smile on her face.
Holding her hand was a tall, graceful eighteen-year-old girl.
It was the grown-up version of herself that Lily had imagined.
It was the family portrait that could never be.
"This is my gift to you." Lily's fingers traced the image of the woman she would never become. "If you had not given that wretch the cure that day... If I had not pushed you away..."
She took a deep breath, forcing back the bloody tears in her eyes.
After fifty years, the tears had long run dry.
Lily stood up, took one last look at her father cowering behind the tree like a stray dog, then turned and pressed her small palm against the cold headstone.
"Vivienne went mad in the tower. She does nothing but scream at the sun all day."
"Father went mad with guilt and became... that."
Lily's eyes grew empty and hard, like a centuries-old ghost trapped in a child's body.
"Only I remain, Mother."
"Only I remain, lucid and trapped in this body that will never age, to bear witness to the sins of our family."
