Chapter 37 You Caught My Attention

• Sylvia stood at the easel, watching Bella's retreating figure with a mocking smile hidden behind her mask. She twirled the brush in her fingers before catching it, dipped it in paint, and started to draw on the canvas.
• Her movements were smooth, each stroke confident and precise, her fingers so nimble it was easy to forget she was a plump woman.
• Hiram watched the delicate white lines appearing under her brush, his gaze growing darker. The snow on the night his sister died seemed to be recreated stroke by stroke under her hand. How was she doing this? Each line was etched into his memory and heart.