In the watercolor, Tadeo’s eyes were reduced to a smudge of brown, but they had been almost black, and the painted smile did not match the mischievous smirk that adorned his face when he was teasing Alba. This was Tadeo’s likeness, yet so much of Tadeo had not been captured by the strokes of the brush even if it was the most accurate portrait of her brother. This only intensified the feeling of loss inside her chest. Tadeo was gone, destined to fade from memory and thought.
