She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet.
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This video was uploaded to uggpascherfo.com on 17-09-2024 10:08:54
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