Claude Monet Weeping Willow painting

Claude Monet Weeping Willow paintingRene Magritte The Son of Man paintingMarc Chagall I and the Village painting
he realized that the eyes in his reflection were not the green that he’d grown up with, the green that he had inherited from Nominal Mom. These eyes were gray, a luminous satiny gray, with only flecks of green.They were the eyes of the mirror man.The instant that Fric recognized this terrifying difference in his reflection, a third floor, he quaked as he passed closed doors that might be flung open by any monster the mind could imagine. He cringed from the sight of age-clouded antique mirrors above old-as-dirt consoles.Repeatedly, he looked back, looked up, in fearful expectation. Surely Moloch would be floating toward him, an unlikely reached the main stairs without being harmed or pursued, but he was man’s two hands came from the mirror, seized him by the wrist, and passed something to him. Then the man’s hands closed over his hand and compressed it into a fist, crumpling the bestowed object before shoving him away.In terror, Fric threw down whatever had been given to him, shuddering at the simultaneously slick and crackled texture of it.He sprinted along the end aisle, to the attic stairs, around and down the spiral staircase, feet slamming with such panic-powered force that behind him the metal treads thrummed like drumskins quivering with the memory of thunder.From east hall to north, along the lonely