I returned for the portrait. Not the gaudy, half-finished one of Mother that the tabloids called “The Crying Canvas.” No. The small one. The one she painted of me at seven, before the madness took her palette.
Layer two. The game let me toggle “Mother’s Vision” now—a filter that turned every shadow into a brushstroke, every joy into an underpainting of dread. The corridor to the studio had no floor. I walked on suspended memories. Layers of Fear -v2.2.0.6- Inheritance DLC -v2...
They’re family.
My palm was stained with cadmium red.