Every canvas displayed a pair of eyes.
Just eyes.
Dozens of them.
Some were painted in warm amber tones. Others carried shades of blue, green, gray, or black.
Some appeared youthful and bright, while others seemed weathered by time and experience.
A few looked gentle enough to belong to saints; others possessed a sharpness that made them difficult to look at for too long.
The strangest part was that despite depicting the same subject, not a single painting felt repetitive.
Each pair seemed to tell a different story.
"A collection?" Ryley finally asked.
His gaze wandered from one canvas to another.
Arman smiled. "A study, to be precise."
"A study of eyes?" Ryley asked.
The artist nodded in return. The light beneath Arman's eyes subtly changed once more.
"People lie with words far more often than they do with their eyes," he added.
Ryley said nothing in return as he couldn't take his eyes off the collection.
The longer he looked, the stranger he felt.
