When she finally stepped back, the painting seemed to breathe — the woman radiant, unbowed, untouched by the storm behind her. Clara smiled softly. For the first time, she saw herself not as she was, but as she had become.
When she finally stepped back, the painting seemed to breathe — the woman radiant, unbowed, untouched by the storm behind her. Clara smiled softly. For the first time, she saw herself not as she was, but as she had become.