The painting was covered by a thin layer of dust. As she pulled back the heavy red curtain, Kiarra was apprehensive. Why, she did not know. It was just one of those nights; storming outside, dark…somehow she felt that she shouldn’t be here. But she told herself that’s a silly thought – Dad said she could explore the new house after all.

Paint was chipped away in places, but most of the original art was visible. It was a young girl, sitting on a velvet stool. Blond hair framed her face, and her smile looked…strange. Below, she saw writing – Lillia Kendal, 1854.

She dropped the curtain, letting it fall back into place. But as soon as it touched the ground, it swung back, of its own accord. She tried to scream, but couldn’t.

And then, as if the painting had transformed, the girl’s hand reached out of the painting, and grabbed Kiarra’s. “Come,” she said in a faint voice. “Come with me.”

Kiarra sits frozen on a velvet stool, looking out at the hall. She smiles a strange smile.

Kiarra London, 1854.