The Long Tale No. 13 - The Portrait

The portrait stared down at all who walked by. The person it depicted had long since faded into the dusk of time but still her steely gaze bore into passers-by, her grey eyes peeking over the rim of her cold metal glasses. The man stared at this portrait for the longest time, taking in the wiry hair and twilight complexion and wondering about who she may have been and what had made the painter paint her like this. Was it out of emotion? Rage or spite, perhaps, or possibly kindness? Or, maybe even an accurate depiction? The portrait stared on.