A Portrait's Regrets
Black eyes. Black hair. Black heart. That was all her oldest son ever saw in her. And Walburga supposed she couldn't blame him. Not after all the abuse she hurled at him. That she spat at his friends whenever they passed.
But what he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't know, was how betrayed she felt. She hated the fact that he resented having to come back here. And knowing it was all her fault just made it worse.
She could have done more for him. She could have defended him. But she hadn't.
Safe behind the closed curtain, Walburga Black began to cry.