Anne's New Life (3)

Amir muttered under his breath, “She’s crazy.”

A tall man in his late sixties, with a weathered face and a hint of weariness in his eyes, responded, “She’s Belrose’s daughter. Madness runs in their blood.”

Amir acknowledged him with a nod. “Mr. Williams, how are you?”

“I am well,” the old man replied, studying the painting with a critical eye. He sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Prince Amir, your father was never much of a painter.”

Amir let out a resigned chuckle. “That, he certainly was not. Anne wanted to see a picture of her mother.”

Mr. Williams continued to scrutinize the portrait. “This doesn’t capture Belrose at all, except for the eyes, hair, and chin. The rest? It’s just an idealized version your father imagined. She looks more like his fantasy than the woman she truly was.”

Mr. Williams’s voice was calm but direct, carrying the experience that he gained all these years. “If you want her to see her mother’s real image, you know who you need to talk to.” His words were point