If there were a piano close at hand, Ophelia would certainly be pounding out one of Schubert's melodies; as none such pianos do exist nearby, she settles for clenching her hands inside the pockets of her jacket, instead.

As much as she taunts Flavia by holding memories of Harriet over her head, truthfully, Ophelia has trouble distinguishing her memories from her dreams. Unable to move her gaze from the portrait, she tries desperately to remember the afternoon in which they all sat down to have the painting done.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath when she realizes that she can't remember that day beyond playing with Daphne.

"I didn't realize it existed," she whispers. "I thought I was imagining the memory of sitting for it for all those years ago."