“I do not wish to appear ungrateful,” Serena said hesitantly, her tone confirming that she was, in fact, harboring ingratitude. “It is obvious that he applied his talents to their full extent. You swear he is genuine of character, so I do not doubt that he labored over every stroke. But examine her cheeks,” she said to her husband, pointing towards the portrait he’d commissioned. “Never have I presented with an overabundance of rouge such as she boasts! And those errant curls, her choice of dress–” She cleared her throat loudly. “It is a fair effort, my dear husband, but I cannot persuade myself to be content with merely ‘fair.’ I simply do not agree she is of my likeness.”
Their discussion turned to other topics, but in the corner, the painted Serena glowered. The transfer had already begun, initiated when the two Sereans locked eyes. Within weeks, she would assume the identity of Mistress of the House, and her ill-tempered doppelganger would know only canvas.
Want to receive a short story via postcard? Let me know!