The next picture was again slid under her door, in the wee hours of the morning before dawn. She heard the gentle scrape of paper in her semi lucid waking state, the moment she placed the sound she was out of bed and making for the door. Her mystery artist was either quick or could turn invisible though as, by the time she got the door open, the hall was empty.
Picking up the page she was surprised to find this image wasn't a drawing, well, not just a drawing. It was a drawing of her, overlaid with a watercolour painting. It worked really well to accentuate the sorrowful longing of the figure pictured. The blue and grey hues, helping to cloud the shrouded figure in misery. She was feeling depressed just looking at it, even though it was simultaneously beautiful.
She remembered the day of this image, she had been at the upstairs landing window, watching the mansion residents having a water balloon fight on the lawn. Everyone dressed appropriately for the hot, late summer day in various styles of near non-existent swimwear. As usual, she wasn't welcome, a feeling that never got easier to deal with.
With a sigh, and a quick swipe at a wayward tear, she put the new drawing away.
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