Extract Three: A Shifting Portrait
- Yasmin
- Sep 21, 2017
- 3 min read
Well, here is the third extract of my story, which is set a few weeks after the second piece (see previous post).
As always, comments are welcome.
A Shifting Portrait
Her life here is constantly crashing against the rigid lands of another world; a world that is slowly crumbling into faded dreams by the waves of time. She remembers feeling out of place, as though she had been picked up, wrenched from familiar comforts, and set down in a foreign world.
Now, she feels at ease, as though she has always been here. She carries out her duties with confidence, to the envy of the other maids of honour. Each day begins the same way. Those who do not have husbands share lodgings with the other unmarried women, and each morning they rise early, dress and attend to the queen. Some afternoons, she is permitted to sit for the portrait her father has commissioned.
She has waited for weeks. Sitting for hours, while someone carefully recreates you upon a stretched canvas is uncomfortable to say the least. She had been more than glad when Master Holbein had proclaimed the final sitting. Queen Jane was becoming heavier with child by the day, and had already retired from court for her confinement. She could bring the heir to England any day now, and Katherine was anxious whenever she spent much time away from her duties. A knock at the door would set her heart into a flurry, only to find it to be a servant come to light the candles for the coming evening.
At first, the thought of a portrait had unsettled her. Why? She did not know.
Still, her father wished to have this portrait of her as soon as possible. He has never told her why this portrait is important, but she can guess. There is only ever one reason for a young woman to have her likeness painted.
Now, she will see the finished painting. Before, she had only seen brief snatches, sketches, the mastered blending of colours; browns swept into cream, blurring blues into green. The pattern of a dress. An outline of a face. Now, she would discover their purpose.
Master Holbein is standing patiently when she enters the room. Behind him, something is draped with a plain cloth. With a swift gesture, the cloth is removed.
She has seen this before. It is like looking into a glass mirrors. At first glance, her face is unfamiliar. It takes a moment to realise.
In the portrait, a strand of hair has escaped the careful confinements of her hood, sweeping across the outline of her forehead. A glimpse of what is beneath.
A wary gaze is frozen forever in familiar eyes. Her eyes. Katherine moves towards them, certain she can see a reflection, something moving. As she does, they cloud over, motionless once more.
‘Thank you, Master Holbein. You have done well. I am pleased with this.’
And she is, but she is disturbed by the way he has captured her. As though he has found a secret in the painting that she does not know, or has forgotten.
Perhaps he has seen that reflection in those eyes too?
The painting seems to change shape. It disappears and reappears all at once. It has no identity, only a nameless woman, a figure of no consequence. Katherine sees other women there. They all look like her, they have the same eyes, but then they are gone as fleetingly as they came.
‘I would like to have my name written somewhere.’ She hopes that her name will be enough. It will say, this is Katherine. She was here. No one will forget her as long as her portrait remains.
He hesitates. It is not often that a young woman requests such a thing. ‘Of course, my lady. As you wish.’
She takes a final glance at the portrait. It seems to smile, the pupils of those eyes flash as the sunlight brushes against them. Soon, the sun retreats, and the smile returns to an expressionless curve.
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