The Magic Cottage

SPOILED ART

I COULD GET NO sense from her. I held Midge's arms and tried to calm her, but she could only shake her head, a few incoherent words emerging between sobs.

So I pulled her aside, as gently as possible, and took the stairs two at a time, stopping only when I was in the middle of the round room, looking left and right, turning my whole body around, then around again, searching for whatever had upset her so much. The room was now tidy, bed reconverted to sofa, and little evidence of last night's soirde remaining; the sun's rays blazed through the windows, glorifying walls and furniture. I could see the forest outside, presented as framed mosaics through the glass, green and lush, with no hint of threat.

I searched and found nothing out of place, nothing that could have caused Midge's distress.

I ran into our bedroom.

Empty.

The bathroom.

Empty.

The spare room.

Empty.

And back into the round room.

Where Midge, supported by her agent, now stood.

She was gesturing toward a window. No, toward the drawing board standing before the window. She seemed reluctant to go near it.

Val left her and strode across the room, and I quickly followed, catching up so that we reached the drawing board together.

And together we looked down at the picture of Gramarye, its overlay paper already turned back. I heard Val gasp, and perhaps I gasped too.

The painting was nothing more than a chaos of smeared colors, all shapes distorted and blurred, the picture's original vibrancy reduced to an ugly mess, made dull by the random mixture of pigments, a deranged artist's creation.

Even sunlight, reflected from its surface, failed to infuse any warmth.