*Lucian*
I have visited this room only once before, and it gave me a blinding headache then.
The old Alpha brought me here to show me the portrait and to explain how his Luna died in this room, dying with grief over the loss of her firstborn son and grandson.
The room carried a heavy flowery scent back then… no doubt the lingering presence of the Luna… and I attribute that to causing my headache.
But the room now smells of furniture oil, and yet still my head begins to pound as I watch Evangeline trace her fingers over the faces in the portrait without actually touching the canvas.
She takes a step back. “They look to be very happy.”
“The old Alpha thought they were.” I say.
She turns to face me. “Have you ever considered growing a mustache?”
“Like the man in the portrait? No.”
