When her eyes moved back to the painting, she forced herself to keep her gaze on it and not allow her eyes to stray. Her eyes, however, were insisting on going back to the delicious sight they were feasting on earlier. So she shifted her eyes again to find something else interesting enough for her to look at.
And that was when she saw it. Her picture from when she was twelve or was it thirteen years old, nicely framed and sitting just beside the large painting. She blinked just to make sure she was not imagining it. It has become a habit for her to do that when she wasn't too sure of what her eyes were seeing. When she ascertained that she was indeed not imagining it and that the frame contained her picture, she furrowed her brows.
She stood up and mindlessly walked toward it. She picked
