CHAPTER 3: THE PORTRAIT GALLERY

The paintings began to move after the third moon cycle.

Sabrina told herself it was grief. Madness. The price of loving something forged from willow bark and stolen breath. But when Mayor Higgins came to commission his son's memorial portrait, she couldn't stop her hands.

The brush moved on its own:

Tommy's eyes opened too wide

Tommy's mouth split into a grin too toothy

Tommy's fingers grew into twining roots

The mayor screamed when he saw it.

Lyra clapped her hands. "Now he'll never leave us!"

That night, Sabrina woke to wet sounds from the studio. The canvas was empty, the paint still glistening.

From the garden came the sound of a child laughing.

When Sabrina looked out, she saw:

Tommy Higgins (or something wearing his skin) digging beneath the white willow, his movements jerky, puppet-like.

Beside him, Lyra held up a fresh bone, her violet eyes glowing.

"Another for the collection, Mother."