The skull-like moon oversees the quiet night. He stretches monstrous arms of moonlight with unusual brightness to the darkness below. One of them streams straight past the broken window and hit a man.
A man with angelic face
A man with cold blue eyes.
A man with a malicious smile.
Opposite to him is a portrait. A portrait of an old man. Like King Louis XIV in his elaborate dress, he poses with total confidence. One could sense the royal authoritative charisma from him through the portrait. Yet he is withered and old. His once golden hair turns completely grey. His blue eyes are diminished with an weariness. The nose and mouth are stuck on his face in a cluster. He is another old poor man you see on the streets. With his grotesque winkled face, his pose is more like a third -rate actor trying to be King Macbeth with his majestic look but instead only succeeds to act with over-exaggerated facial gesture of emotion.
Looking at this horrible portrait, the man laughs. His subtle malevolent smile turned into laughter. Mad laughter.
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