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Another crack of his knuckles breaks the silence.

“It is the representation of obsession in different for—”

“That man looks like you.”

I remain still, frozen by surprise.

“What did you just say?”

He points to the dead man. “The skin... the lips...”

I look back at the painting. The diaphanous lines of the face, the violet shadows on the hands, the slight parting of the lips.

“This disturbs me,” he adds in a voice so low it is almost a breath.

Does this bastard think me plain?

“It disturbs you that he resembles me?” I retort. “Besides, I see no resemblan—”

“It disturbs me to see someone who looks like you, dead.”

I slowly turn my head toward him. “And what does it matter to you?”

He turns his head toward me, but his gaze remains glued to the painting. “I do not know.”

I clear my throat, trying to break the tension.

“You think of useless things,” I say, turning to pass him.

Before I can, his hand closes firmly on my arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, looking around.

Instead of answering, his grip on my arm tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh.

“Release me immediately,” my voice grows firmer. “You are behaving in an unseemly manner.”

He turns toward me without yielding, his gaze fixed on mine while his fingers squeeze harder.

“It is you,” he snarls, “who makes me behave in an unseemly manner.”

“Let me go.”

For a moment he hesitates, then his hand withdraws, leaving a void that burns where there was once pressure. I run my fingertips over my arm, along the trail the contact left behind.

“I am sorry, I—” he attempts to say, but the mask distorts the sound, muffling the words.

“No apologies are necessary,” I cut him off. “Leave me in peace. That will be more than enough, Lord Vasiliev Ashford.”

He sighs, attempting to run his fingers through his hair, but the mask prevents him. A breath laden with frustration escapes his lips.

Then, without another look, he slowly passes my side and exits the gallery. The flow of guests brushes past me, their light steps on the floor wake me, stirring the torpor left by that man.

I shift my gaze to another painting being observed by several guests.

Venin de Grâce

The naked bodies of a man and a woman are intertwined here in a kiss that seems to capture every breath. Immersed almost completely in a milky liquid, their hands grasp and scratch at each other’s skin.