You weren't as afraid as you should have been, everyone said she was kind.
It was a rite of passage in your family now.
When you turned ten you went to see her, to see if she approved.
They kept her portrait in a rented storage room on the outskirts of town.
She wasn't alone there, when anyone in your family died their portraits joined hers.
They all watched as you gently shut the door behind you, your family waiting on the other side.
There were specific words you had to say when you went in,a polite introduction.
If only you had remembered them.
You just walked up to her and peered at the old painting.
She didn't like that.
Her kind smile drew you in and she held out her hand, somehow outside of the painting.
It looked real, pale and wavering slightly but real.
It felt real as you took it until suddenly a lightning bolt of pain shoot up your arm.
Looking down you saw your hand was turning red, your skin was shredding itself.
Yanking your hand back you could only gasp and struggle for breath as it spread.
You collapsed in a pile of your own blood and your vision began to fade.
None of the paintings were smiling now, some were angry but most were... sad?
Your portrait will not be left here.
They will forget you.
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