Lost in Time
A haunting romance
The portrait watched Natrice from across the studio. She’d restored hundreds of paintings, spent countless hours alone with the frozen faces of the dead. But this one was different. This neglected canvas, wounded with grime & split down the middle, it's eyes held her captivated.
She’d found it three days ago, hidden behind a false panel in the Ravenswood Estate’s library. The frame was simple mahogany. Unremarkable, except for how deliberately it was concealed. Someone wanted this painting to disappear. Curious.
Natrice turned the canvas over, running her fingers across the inscription carved into the wooden stretcher. The words were gouged deep, as if written in desperation ~
I could hold you for a million years.
No signature. No date. Just that single line, cut so deep the wood splintered.
She should focus on the technical aspects, the craquelure patterns, water damage, or if the original varnish could be saved.
Instead, she found herself captivated by the subject’s face. A young man, twenty-five ish, dark hair and even darker eyes. There was something raw in his expression. Was it longing or fear? His collar was loose, cravat unknotted. One hand reached toward the viewer, fingers extended as if grasping for something just out of reach.
Natrice rubbed her eyes and checked her phone. It was nearly midnight. She’d lost track of time. Again. The family lawyer had been generous with access. They were desperate to catalogue everything before the auction. The house was bleeding money. The heirs wanted nothing to do with it. Which made her even more curious of this painting's history.
She should go to bed. Instead, she pulled out her restoration tools. Just a gentle cleaning solution. A small test patch, she told herself. Just to see what’s underneath.
The first stroke of her brush revealed a corner of his jaw. The second brought out the hollow of his throat. Natrice worked in silence. The whisper of cotton against canvas & her breath enveloped her in a focused bubble. With each careful touch, he emerged from beneath the decades like someone surfacing from deep ocean water.
It was past two when she stopped. Her hands were cramped. She’d uncovered most of his face. The intimacy of his gaze made her chest tight. Whoever had painted this had known him. Loved him. So why hide him?
Studio aromas danced on the breeze. Linseed oil and rain. Thunder rolls outside, but here there is only candlelight. Warm and gold. Natrice—no, not me. Someone else, someone whose name sits just out of reach…holds a brush, watching the way paint catches on canvas.
“You’re making me too handsome,” says a voice, rough with affection.
The hands…don’t stop moving. “Impossible. I’m only painting what I see.”
“Liar.” But there’s laughter in it. Soft as the rain. “You’ll ruin me with flattery.”
“I’ll ruin you?” The brush pauses. “Tanner, we’re already ruined. We were ruined the moment I looked at you.”
Silence, heavy as stone. “Don’t. Don’t speak of it.”
“Why not? Here, in this room, can’t we at least be honest?”
“Honesty is a luxury we cannot afford, Mason.”
The name echoes. Mason. Mason Black, youngest son. Disappointment of the family. The one with too much sensitivity and not enough sense. In three days, he’s to marry Isabella Thorne & unite two fortunes. Produce an heir. Do his family duty.
In three days, none of THIS will be possible again.
“Come here,” Mason whispers, setting down his brush. “Please.”
Tanner moves from the window, and suddenly Natrice can see him. Truly see him. The same face from the portrait. Alive. Breathing. Garden soil still under his nails from the day’s work. Hair damp from the rain. Eyes that hold entire worlds.
“I can’t give you….” Mason says. “A grand house, a title, a life without hiding. But I can give you this.” He touches Tanner’s face, thumb tracing his cheekbone. “I can give you every moment, every breath. Every beat of my heart.”
“That’s not enough,” Tanner says. He’s leaning into the touch. “That will never be enough.”
“Then I’ll give you even more. I could hold you for a million years, and, …it still wouldn’t be long enough.”
The kiss, when it comes, tastes like thunder…
Natrice awoke breathless. Her own hands clutched at empty air. The guest room was dark and cold. The estate settled around her with creaks and sighs. For a moment, she could still feel it. The weight of longing. The way Tanner had fit against Mason like a missing piece.
It wasn’t real. Her mind played tricks, spinning stories from an old inscription and too many late nights alone with the dead.
She could still smell linseed oil. Could still feel the ghost of that amazing kiss against her lips.
The next morning, Natrice needed answers.
The estate’s library held the family records. Meticulously kept by generations. She found Mason easily enough. Born 1867, died ? ? Disappeared. Vanished the night before his wedding to Isabella Thorne, society darling, perfect match. There was a newspaper clipping, yellow and brittle ~ Heir Missing. Search Continues.
He’d never been found.
Natrice flipped through ledgers, account books, and personal correspondence. Then she found a letter from Isabella. Dated two weeks after his disappearance. ~ I will take the truth to my grave. The family name must be protected. Some loves are too dangerous to acknowledge.
Some loves?
Natrice’s hands trembled. Then she thought about staff records. Garden staff records. A name made her breath catch. Tanner West, head gardener, employed 1889-1895. Dismissed without reference. No forwarding address.
She raced back to the studio. To the portrait. In the daylight, with clear eyes, she could see it now… This wasn’t a formal commission. This was painted with shaking hands. Desperate brushstrokes. The kind of work you create when you’re trying to capture something before it’s taken from you.
This was how Mason saw Tanner. His love on full display.
Natrice spent the day restoring. Uncovering. The painting was exquisite. Technically masterful despite its raw emotion. As she worked, she could feel Mason’s presence in every brushstroke. His careful attention to the curve of Tanner’s smile. The light in his eyes. Strength in his shoulders. This was a man memorizing his lover, painting him into permanence.
I could hold you for a million years.
The sun was setting when Natrice stepped back. The portrait nearly restored to full life. She’d found more of Mason’s work hidden throughout the house. Landscapes, studies, all of them beautiful. None of them like this. This one blazed.
“What happened to you?” she whispered to the painted face. “Where did you go?”
Isabella stands in the doorway of the studio, her face awash with fury. She’s seen everything.
“Isabella, please—” Mason reaches for her, but she recoils.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.” Her voice cracks. “I defended you. When they said you were too soft, too strange, I defended YOU.”
Natrice understands ~ the portrait isn’t a confession. It’s goodbye.
She woke to find herself standing in the west tower. Mason’s original studio. Sleepwalking? The dreams were so real. Her heart hammered as she looked around the room. Easels covered in dust. Dried paint palettes. Brushes hardened with age. No one had touched this room is decades. They sealed it all away. Erased him.
On the far wall, barely visible in the pre-dawn light, another painting. Natrice approached slowly. Her breath misting in the cold air.
This one was of Mason. On the back, in different handwriting ~
Forgive me.
Two portraits. Two farewells. Two men who loved each other in a world that gave them no space to exist.
Natrice sank to the floor. She’d been restoring more than paint and canvas & family legacy. She’d been restoring a love story that the world erased.
The question was ~ What would she do with it now?
To be continued...
Written for prompt by Wild K. Nebula
oh dayum, this is so good. my heart aches for them. ✨🦋
Ooh! You’re having so much fun with these prompts!