Flavia de Luce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spirit_of_vitriol) wrote2014-10-18 11:57 am
spirit_of_vitriol) wrote2014-10-18 11:57 am
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they won't need no lie detector, all they'll have to do is make me look into my mother's eyes
The first weeks of class had been a whirlwind--new classes, old friends, the struggle of putting aside the summer's idleness--but Flavia had been grateful. It provided a welcome distraction, after all, from the dilemma she'd been feeling since she'd arrived at Feely's door to see the piano from Buckshaw in her living room.
Feely believed, and continued to believe, it was the only object from home in the entire city. Flavia knew that wasn't true. It hadn't even been true the very day Feely arrived.
It was why she'd returned to the art museum, to the bench still situated just in front of Vanetta Harewood's mysterious portrait, looking at each of the painted figures in turn. The tow-headed girl toting a book of fairy tales, so obviously Daphne; the swaddled infant, Flavia herself in a christening gown now surely boxed up in a closet somewhere in Buckshaw; standing to the right, a younger Ophelia, just as primly self-possessed as now, though still enough of a child to have been captured in oils, toying with a cat's cradle. Harriet, at the very center, looking over them all with bemusement and something Flavia dared to believe was love.
She should tell Feely. She should never tell Feely.
Flavia tapped out a message on her phone, jabbing her thumb down on the SEND button before she lost her nerve.
feely please come to the art museum
i'll be outside on the steps
it's important
Feely believed, and continued to believe, it was the only object from home in the entire city. Flavia knew that wasn't true. It hadn't even been true the very day Feely arrived.
It was why she'd returned to the art museum, to the bench still situated just in front of Vanetta Harewood's mysterious portrait, looking at each of the painted figures in turn. The tow-headed girl toting a book of fairy tales, so obviously Daphne; the swaddled infant, Flavia herself in a christening gown now surely boxed up in a closet somewhere in Buckshaw; standing to the right, a younger Ophelia, just as primly self-possessed as now, though still enough of a child to have been captured in oils, toying with a cat's cradle. Harriet, at the very center, looking over them all with bemusement and something Flavia dared to believe was love.
She should tell Feely. She should never tell Feely.
Flavia tapped out a message on her phone, jabbing her thumb down on the SEND button before she lost her nerve.
feely please come to the art museum
i'll be outside on the steps
it's important