As she listens, Flavia searches the painting for clues; something in the quality of the light, perhaps, or the way they’re all dressed, anything to corroborate the things Feely is saying. Even now—perhaps especially now—she can’t quite manage to simply believe her sister, after a lifetime’s worth of lies. “At least we know I’ve always had quite a lot to say,” she murmurs; a stupid joke, but the only one she can think to make.