A flickering candle cast its wavering light, its glow dancing upon every surface—the weathered bookshelf, the rocking chair, the ancient chandelier—and finally, a darker corner of the room.

A gentle draft stirred, coaxing the candlelight into the shadows. 

There, it revealed a captivating portrait of a young girl with flowing blond hair and eyes as blue as the ocean, alive with a captivating gaze that seemed to follow you.

Heavenly beautiful.

But beneath this portrait lay a scene that made even the candle blink with horror—a lifeless body, eyes swollen and devoid of life, face pale as milk, mouth agape.

Undoubtedly, it was the same girl, now a corpse.

Curiosity drove the candle's light to the next portrait. 

This time, a shorter girl with apple-red cheeks and lips as plump as ripe plums, a shawl wrapped around her head suggesting her Kashmiri heritage.

Again, a lifeless corpse beneath.

In the third row, a young woman with bushy eyebrows and muscular shoulders, freckles adorning her nose, exuding boyish charm.

The air feared to move even slightly. Who knows whose death's scene was captured below?

But the shadows shifted. Dim light peeked below, revealing once more the grim portrayal of this tomboy's cold, motionless body.

Chills ran down the weary spine of the bookshelf. The air seemed to close its eyes in reverence.

The cruel light extended its hand to the last row of portraits.

The fourth and most captivating girl appeared. Curly tendrils kissed her high cheekbones, sparkling eyes shifting color from brown to green to golden—hazel.

A faint line of pearly white teeth peeked through her raspberry lips. The mole on her chin smiling. Indeed she was innocent, mischievous and beautiful.

Yet, there was something more special about her—the sparks of rebellion in her arched eyebrows, her commanding body language. She was not someone to be trifled with easily.

She exuded an aura of beauty and power, a blend of ethereal grace and untamed spirit.

To look into her eyes was to see a gazelle; to witness her presence was to recognize a lioness.

But no one dared to look below at her lifeless form. The breeze held its breath, refusing to move further. Yet the light trembled, pushing forward.

And then—blank.

No portrait adorned the wall below, just plain,

empty

and

chalky white.

The interplay of lights and shadows halted abruptly as a thunder bellowed outside, and the sudden burst of wind snuffed out the flickering candle. In an instant, the room was plunged into darkness.

Then, the electrical lights turned on, flooding the dark corner of the room with the glow of numerous bulbs.

To the observer's surprise, after the four rows of grim portraits, there were ample paintings and photographs of the fourth girl scattered on canvas, adorning the walls.

Each portrayed the fourth girl in various scenes. 

In one, she smirked mischievously, her eyes gleaming with playful defiance. 

In another, a scowl etched determination across her face, contrasting sharply with the softness of her features. 

There she was, hugging a wounded cat in the middle of a rain-soaked road, and in another, a pen perched behind her ear as she studiously immersed herself in her books. 

In yet another, she stood among peers, hands planted defiantly on her hips, commanding attention.

Some images captured moments of conflict, depicting her slapping, pointing, or shouting at someone with an intensity that mirrored her rebellious spirit.

Every canvas, every photograph, narrated tales of her vitality and defiance.

Two things were common in every painting.

First, there lingered an uncanny emptiness in her mischievous, twinkling eyes—a ghostly suggestion of concealed sorrow beneath her vibrant façade

Second - Every picture of hers was circled with thick red markers. Blood-red circles. As if someone could not wait to see her turned into a corpse as well.

Who was that someone?

Before anyone could ponder, another boom of thunder shook the room, plunging it once more into ominous darkness. 

Through the window, the sky glowed an unsettling bloody red —a harbinger of impending dread.

Had the time of waiting finally come to an end for that unknown painter/killer?