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Elias turned to see a young man, a student by the looks of his ink-stained fingers.
Elias walked past the early frames. The smooth, unlined faces of childhood were beautiful, but he lingered at the far end of the hall. This was where the truly showed.
He stopped at . It was a woman with silver hair like spun moonlight, her laughter caught in a web of fine lines around her eyes. She looked like she had survived storms and savored every sunrise. "She has your eyes," a voice whispered.
The oak doors of creaked with a familiar weight as Elias stepped inside. The walls weren’t covered in the neon splashes or digital abstractions found downtown. Instead, they held the "Mature Collection"—a series of seventy portraits, one for every year of a single human life.