The sailor found himself in an unfamiliar room with whitewashed walls. Many paintings hung on the walls. Most of them were covered by white cloths. There was a picture of an empty chair hanging behind him.
He remembered sitting for a portrait. The Boston winter had been harsh, and he’d already drank his wages. The artist had promised to pay well for his time.
“Welcome!” A high-pitched voice said. He turned and saw a boy of perhaps twelve dressed in old-fashioned clothes. The boy’s face was almost familiar. He had seen it in a painting. “I see you’ve been restored.”

Thanks for reading! You can support me and find links to all my other work via my Linktree!