Everyone calls me Yuri. My full name is Yuri Cross. Yes, I’m descended from the artist, Judith Cross. It’s hard to make a name that’s truly yours when you’re associated with someone else. Take Westerleigh. He stared at me like I was a demigod when he realized I was related to the lover of his beloved Elizabeth Hartford. Now I find myself compelled as artist to somehow outdo Judith’s portrait of Elizabeth, the ones with the eyes that seem to follow you wherever you go. A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words, the arrogance in those painted green eyes speak volumes about the true character of Westeleigh’s idol. Perhaps I’ll do a sketch that shows the true heart of Elizabeth Hartford. More likely it’ll be the dark, formless fears she inspiries with her haughty gaze, trying to take some sort of shape. I’m sure she used people without even considering the consequences to them as a result of her plots. I fear what proximity to her portrait may do to Westerleigh. I already feel like I offered him up like a virgin sacrifice, dressing him in white lace like a gothich heroine, and sending him off to the haunted house. Westerleigh wanted so badly to go. I still feel like I made a horrible mistake, helping him to go to Hartford Hall. It almost seems like Elizabeth is haunting me, taunting me for that error in judgment. I can see her face pressed against my window pane at night. There’s something different about her, an almost hungry desperation. It reminds me too much of Westerleigh’s obsessive need to learn more about Elizabeth, to be closer to her in any way he can. Well, there’s only one way for me to banish this ghost of guilt. Get out my sketch book and start drawing.