Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Sixty-One

He bought the picture at a house clearance sale. 

Anna obediently cleaned the dim little oil, which turned out to be a charming study of Bacchus and his nymphs.

She loved it. And Him.

The marriage lurched along for another decade, but when it finally broke He was vicious. Within a week Anna was out and he had installed his young mistress.

She was a fey creature who sat in front of the painting devouring it with her eyes.

Then she disappeared.

Did she run away?

Did He kill her?

Or was there an extra figure in the painted bacchanal?

©jj 2019

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