The Oval portrait

MC:=Main Character

MC-Those bloody haunts, they have destroyed our chariot.

Pedro-We need to find a place to spend the night sir.

MC-Lets go then, its freezing out here!

Pedro-Look up there, there is a castle on the top of the hill, shall we go there, sir?

MC-Lets go!

-groans-

Pedro-We have finally arrived. Lay down here sir! Get some rest.

MC-Oh! Perfect.

Pedro-Is everithing okay with you,sir?

MC-Yes, thank you very much! This is such a lovely place, its a shame that it is abandoned,
just look at the decorations, they are simply astonishing. I bet fancy people used to live here.

Pedro-I agree with you, sir

Now they will start looking at their surroundings and appraising it. And Pedro will give a book
to the MC.

Pedro-Have a look at this sir.

MC-What is this?

Pedro-It is a special book made by Rosario Larralde. It contains some good faces.

MC-Nice touch! I will read it after I get some sleep.

Pedro-Of course! And always remember the words of an old sage A bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush.

Then the MC will recalculate, in order to understand those wise words. A moment later the MC
found a diary and got inmersed in the reading.

MC- Long- long I read- and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew
by and the deep midnight came. The rays of the numerous candles now fell within a niche of
the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw
in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into
womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes. -And continued-
This is a nice vignette, lets what the dairy has to explain about it.
The MC was so inmersed in the Reading that it was as if he could see the persons that
appeared in the dairy. Then the MC continued the reading.

MC- She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the
hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and
having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of
glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young fawn; loving and cherishing all things;
hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward
instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for
this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to pourtray even his young bride.

After hours and days of painting, the Maiden of rarest beauty died at the same time the painter
finished the art work. After he noticed that the Maiden was dead, he realised something.

Painter-This is indeed life itself!