Reality's Illusion

Chapter 9

We arrived at the overflowing gallery around eight. Sera's work had appeared to be quite good in the pictures online, but I had no idea she was this popular. Nate and I had wandered around, looking at each display, yet I kept coming back to an angel with an uncanny resemblance to Sera herself.

The statue stood about two and a half feet tall atop a large black block, shrouded in glass and illuminated from underneath. The delicate glow cast shadows at all of the appropriate angles, bringing a wave of sorrow to her bowed head. Every detail from the woman's long, flowing locks that trailed down her back and covered her shoulders and bits of her arms, to the tattered hem of her dress, had been carefully crafted in clay. But it was her wings that held my attention. With a span of at least fifteen or sixteen outstretched inches, she might ascend into heaven at any minute. I was transfixed. While she had the ability to take flight, her solemn pose indicated a lack of energy or will to move. My heart ached for the depression and pain that showed in the lines of her face, and her eyes tried to hide a sadness that haunted her stone soul. If only I could rescue the tortured creature, maybe then I could save myself.

"That's the one, huh?" Nate tilted his head from side to side, although I could tell he didn't see what I did.

I nodded, continuing to peruse each delicate line and elaborate detail Sera had captured in this fallen woman.

"It's kind of feminine, don't you think?" His rhetorical question didn't warrant an answer, and he hadn't expected one.

Squatting down to get a better view, I noticed Nate wander off from the corner of my eye. I might have been there for twenty minutes, or it could've been an hour. Only when the gallery owner came by to place a sold ticket on the edge of the case did I return to the present.

She smiled gracefully. "Bastian! Wow. It's great to see you! How have you been?"

Tara Winford. Gallery owner. Art connoisseur with a brilliant knack for discovering talent. At one time, her eyes had been on my pieces. Now, that was a distant memory.

"Hey, Tara. Nice to see you." I took her hand and gently pressed a kiss to the top.

She really was a phenomenal woman. Sylvie and I had become quite close to her over the years, although I hadn't seen her since the funeral.

The indecision shined in her eyes-a not-knowing-how-to-proceed look-so I saved her from herself. "Intriguing piece. Someone will be quite lucky to have it in their home."

"What? Oh, yes, The Seraphim. It's exquisite. The high-ticket exhibit tonight. I think Sera priced it, hoping it wouldn't sell." She winked at me.

"She obviously didn't price it high enough or wasn't aware of what someone would be willing to pay to have it."

"Yes. She underestimates her worth. Most artists do. I haven't been able to catch her to tell her how well things are going. There are only one or two remaining in the collection that haven't sold."

"I haven't seen her, either, but when I find her, I'll make sure to tell her you'd like to talk to her."

"Thanks, Bastian. I'll tell her you're on the prowl if I see her first." The awkward silence filled the space between us, and Tara made an escape. "Well, hey, it's great seeing you. I hear you're working with Ferry on a project. I hope you'll give me the pleasure of the opening when you're ready."

"Certainly. Thank you."

She leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're back, Bastian. We've all missed you." With that, she turned on her stilettos and mingled her way through the crowd.

I stood, saddened, knowing The Seraphim had gone to someone else, but I couldn't have afforded it regardless. I could only hope that whoever had purchased it appreciated the mesmerizing beauty the angel offered, and I bid farewell to the stone figure.