Is this her? Whose unease is reflected in those eyes?
She put down the hairdryer, slipped off the towel around her body, donned her pajamas, and lay flat on the soft bed. Her eyes naturally drifted toward the wall at the head of the bed. It was empty; there was no painting of a young girl.
A painting of a young girl?
There was never any wall art in her room, so why did the image of a young girl's painting flash through her mind, and why did it seem like such a natural occurrence? As if she had once lived in a room adorned with such a painting.
God, the hallucinations in her mind had been occurring with increasing frequency lately. Moreover, whenever she tried to delve deeper into those visions, her head would hurt, hurt so much she could no longer think.
So this time, she simply closed her eyes quietly, not daring to ponder why there might be a painting of a young girl. She told herself to just sleep peacefully, to meet Huai'an tomorrow; he probably wouldn't come tonight anyway.
