Miss April got her name because she was born in April.
As a little girl she was very adorable, and time allowed her to grow into a very beautiful woman. How beautiful was she? It is said she was so beautiful, that she would spend several hours admiring herself in the mirror.
Those eyes! Those lips! Those cheeks! How could anyone resist her? Miss April was sure about it, her beauty could rival that of Aphrodite herself, and she would even so for all to hear. Of course, one should never compare oneself to an Olympian, especially when it comes to beauty. Miss April didn't know this, but Aphrodite was deeply offended, and she would make sure to have her revenge.
One day, as she was admiring her reflection in the mirror, she let out a piercing shriek, for she noticed something which made her blood freeze and her hands go numb. Miss April couldn't believe her eyes! On her head there was a single silver hair, standing proudly and defiantly, proud of how different it was from the others. Furious and with eyes full of tears, she sentenced this single hair to death. She grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped it clean off. It was as if it had never existed.
Just then, a thought struck her. It was in that moment she realised that beauty, like the prettiest flower, doesn't last forever. In the end, it is taken away by the hands of time. Although she was still very young, she knew she had to do something. If she couldn't stop time, at least she would act as if it didn't exist.
And so, she went to a portraitist and asked him to immortalize her on canvas. She was very specific. It had to be done by her twenty fifth birthday, in exactly a week's time, for she would unveil it in front of all her birthday guests. The portraitist rubbed his hands in delight, for she was a worthy model. She wore her prettiest pink dress for the occasion. She sat on a chair and posed. She rested her left elbow on an open book, while she held a white handkerchief with her right hand. Looking slightly to the side, she made sure she was showing her precious locket, for not only was it her most prized valuable, but it had to appear on the portrait.
The portraitist was very skilful. In less than a week, the portrait was finished, and as promised, it was unveiled on her birthday party. The guests were all very surprised, for they couldn't tell the real Miss April from the one on canvas. They had before them twins!
Miss April had got what she wanted, and ordered all her mirrors to be disposed of.
Miss April had her portrait hanging on the living room wall. So pleased was she with her portrait, that every day she would admire herself in her canvas. She felt she had been victorious, for in canvas, she would always remain beautiful, frozen in time, and therefore, so would she.
Poor Miss April! If only she had known. One should not take time very lightly, for one cannot avoid it, and neither can one cheat it.
One day, a week after her after her birthday, as she was admiring herself in her portrait, she noticed something which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. On her painted head stood a single silver hair. Was this some kind of joke? Had it been the portraitist? That was not possible, for when she picked it up, her portrait had no white hair. Was it done by one of her birthday guests? Very unlikely, for she would have noticed. Miss April shrugged. Maybe it was simply a scratch. The rest looked perfect, just like her!
Oh how she would admire herself in the portrait! Long hours would pass, and she would never once become separated from it. Some of her staff members even began suspecting she wasn't eating, for it would become very difficult to separate her from her painted self.
A month passed, and on a normal day, as normal as any, while Miss April was admiring herself, she noticed something different about the portrait. Somehow, the portrait seemed much darker, even on a clear and sunny day. It was as if the colours used for the painting had lost their shade of brightness. How bizarre, but Miss April did not care, for she still looked perfect.
A month later, in June, Miss April noticed the biggest change, one she was sure hadn't been there before. Her painted self appeared to be winking her right eye to the spectator. How could this be? Both eyes had always been open. Miss April began suspecting someone had altered the portrait to play a prank on her. As a result of this, she dismissed all her staff, thus leaving her all alone in the house. However, was she alone? Not entirely. She still enjoyed the company of her painted double. Still, as strange as it was, Miss April didn't mind this change, for she still looked perfect.
The wink remained for a whole month, when one day, to Miss April's big shock, both painted eyes had gone back to their former state. How could this be? There was no one else left in the house! Oh well, Miss April didn't care. She liked her painted self better with both eyes open, and what was more, she still looked.... Perfect? Miss April looked more closely at her painted reflection and discovered she had more white hairs, and her cheeks were much rounder. She even noticed a wrinkle or two under her eyes.
Miss April screamed, for she felt someone was indeed breaking into her house, and worst of all, altering her perfect reflection. Shortly after that, she ordered the town's bricklayers to bar her windows and even brick up both her front and back doors. It was clear that madness was now the master of the house.
And so, a month passed, and Miss April was living sealed within her house, trying to keep anyone from altering her portrait. In all that time, her portrait remained unchanged, to Miss April's relief. Her suspicions had been correct, someone had been indeed toying with her, for the changes had stopped the moment she sealed her house from the outside world.
Poor Miss April, if only she had kept one of the mirrors she had disposed of, for if she had, she would have found out that not a single hand was altering her portrait. In fact, it was changing by itself, and that wasn't all, as the portrait changed, so did Miss April! But how was she to know this? She had no mirrors, and no staff to reassure her that those physical changes were real.
As content as Miss April felt, it didn't last, for a month later, in September, her portrait had changed significantly. She was frowning; her eyes were sunken; her brunette locks were now the colour of silver, and even her hands seemed frail. Those weren't her hands. It was as if she was staring at her grandmother's hands. Her portrait looked mean. Miss April began screaming and pulling her hair as the tears was running down her cheeks.
A couple of months passed, and the Wedlandians grew accustomed to Miss April's maddening screams coming from within her sealed house. At first they thought everything to be extremely odd and out of place, but they soon learned to not pay much attention to it.
One day however, on December, Miss April's neighbours became very uneasy, because for the first time in months, they couldn't hear any screams. The days passed, and still no sound could be heard. They felt something might have happened to poor Miss April. And so, the decision was made to go and investigate. A group of Wedlandian men and Lamsurians gathered on her front porch and knocked several times on the front door while calling her name. No answer came from within. Not a stir. They tried this several times, but the response was still the same. Complete silence. They began fearing the worst, and so it was decided that drastic measures had to be taken. Armed with hammers, crowbars, clubs and poles, they brought down the bricks which were sealing the front door. Once down, they quickly stormed into the house, looking for Miss April.
After a quick search, they indeed found someone. Lying on the living room floor, facing up, was an old woman. Her hair was white as snow, and her skin was of a green complexion. Her eyes were shut and her mouth was open. There was no doubt, that old hag had passed away. She was lying at the base of her portrait, wrinkled and shrunken. Her hideous portrait was very accurate. However, the question still remained, where was Miss April? So far they had found her grandmother, but no sign of the young woman.
One of the men present, a young man with a thin moustache, began studying the portrait of the old hag. There was something about that portrait which didn't seem right to him. There was something familiar about those old eyes. The young man's eyes surveyed every detail of that portrait, until they fell on the painted locket she was wearing. "That locket... I have seen that locket before". Then, he remembered. "That was Miss April's locket!" His eyes opened wide. He quickly turned to the corpse on the floor, and just as he suspected, the locket was there, tied around the hag's neck. Both the locket and the portrait's familiar eyes were enough evidence. The young man then let out a piercing scream which disturbed all those present. "What's the matter?" The young man raised a trembling finger and pointed at the corpse. "That wasn't Miss April's grandmother, that was Miss April!"
One of the men present was Miss April's portraitist, though he stood at the back of the room. While everyone else were screaming and trying to understand what had happened, the portraitist was smiling. It was an evil smile, one which would have frozen the heart of the bravest knight. Why was he smiling, because the portraitist was in reality Aphrodite, relishing the fact that her revenge had been so sweet.
*
In the end, Miss April's vanity became her undoing. Her portrait began showing her what she was becoming, and she didn't like what she saw. Poor Miss April passed away only eight months after having turned twenty five, of old age no less.
No one could explain how she had aged so quickly. Miss April still had her whole life ahead of her, and yet, she withered away as quickly as a rose.
The house sat vacant for a long time until it was eventually bought by a mysterious stranger. The buyer was very pleased with the purchase, though some say he was more interested in the portrait of the old Miss April, which was still hanging on the wall of the living room, than in the house itself.
The moment he was in the presence of the famous portrait, he began rubbing his hands with delight. "Such a fine piece. The artistry is exquisite, so lifelike. It shows us the person we all carry inside of us our whole life, the person that in the end remains. Yes, such a nice piece. They say that if a portrait is done very well, it traps part of that person's soul within it. The soul is mixed with the paint. Did you know that? Of course you didn't. It's just superstitions believed in the world of art collecting"
He began wiping away the dust from the frame with his palm. "Yes, this will be a fine addition to my collection. Now they will be eleven. My sinister eleven"
The stranger chuckled. He then turned to the realtor. "Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know if the mansion atop the hill is also for sale..."