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Tigress of the Shrubland (14)
Adapting to the slight movements of subjects was a challenge to which Charles was well accustomed; but not so with Miss Staghorn, who sat stock still each afternoon, a steely, faint smile locked into her face — statuesque, in the eeriest sense of the term. The only disruption came when she would ask, “How is it coming along?” every hour, to which Charles would reply, “Oh, very nicely.”
In truth, it was not coming along nicely, nor evenly passably. The painting did not look like Miss Staghorn, who had pale skin and black eyes and wore a black dress with white lace and yet whose portrait was unmistakably green. Try as Charles might to restart each day, some force drew him to maintain and build upon what had been done before. Where there ought have been human limbs, there were branches. Where hair should have sprouted, there were leaves.
