The matriarch picked up the painting, and brought it closer to her face.
She inspected it carefully, scanning every inch of it.
Amazing how it wasn't complete, but she could absolutely tell it was Fay. A pretty young Fay.
She was definitely around the age Ace would have met her for the first time.
"How long have you been painting this?" She moved her eyes away from the painting long enough to ask.
"Over ten years. Even longer than that. I could never complete it. It was just a face that haunted my memories, but I never saw it clearly. I thought if I painted my thoughts, it would form a face. But the more I paint, the further I get from my goal," he said, his face contorted in confusion.
"I'm no therapist of any kind, but I think you started to paint this picture after your father died," she said confidently.
"Why would you think that?" He asked, still confused.
"Did I lie though?" She flexed her brow.
