She found the painting hidden within the attic, ravishing and wrong. A woman stood in crimson waters, eyes too wide, and smile too sharp. Yet, it looked like her…

She hung it up anyway.

The longer it stayed the stranger the painting became. Colors bled from the canvas at night. Shadows warped where they shouldn’t. Whispers echoed around the painting. The longer she stared at the painting, her own reality began to warp. Her room twisted, walls warped, mirrors refused to show her face. It was chaos.

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She just stared at the painting, her gaze unblinking. Suddenly, the woman in the painting began to move. First, a blink. Then, a tilt of the head. Then- gone…

She tore her eyes away from the painting and slowly turned around. There, the woman stood in the hallway. Her robes were covered in blood as she stood in the shadows grinning.

“Look down,” the figure whispered.

She looked down. Her hands were covered in paint- and blood. In the empty frame of the painting her own reflection stared back. She was astonished.