Pale Shadow

III.

With Lambence they woke and rose, both oddly listless. Something seemed to have drained Tara’s vitality, feeding hungrily on her vigor. They broke their fast as if famished, finishing the wine, the apples, and the cheese. Both avoided any mention of the weird events of the dark hours of Dimming. But both were eager to leave this strange house of shadows.

They descended to the main room, and saw for the first time a great painting hung upon the wall. Yestereve the light had been too faint for them to observe it.

It was the portrait of a woman, with cold white skin, sleek ink-black hair, a red voluptuous mouth, and dark, avid eyes. They stared at it, intuitively knowing that the picture was a portrait of the owner of the house.

Evalla shuddered faintly. “She is . . . very beautiful,” whispered the child almost jealously. Tara smiled dreamily, then slid her arm around Evalla’s slender shoulders.

“Perhaps, but her love is a pale shadow of yours,” smiled Tara of the Twilight.