(Image copyright: Claire Fuller)
She sat in the gentle morning sunlight sketching the statue. The King stood tall, his mighty crown on the level of the tops of trees that guarded him. Passersby did not give a second glance to this magnificent structure. Nor did anyone bother about the story behind it.
She squinted her eyes, trying to commit to canvas the detailing that that adorned his face. A look of arrogance and pride, but she felt that there was a heart of gold beneath all that tough facade.
The statue showed years of neglect, the paint reeling away and clumps of moss now adorning it. But her canvas said a different story, of an illustrious king and his faithful disciples, as she breathed life into it.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers- 4th July for the above photo prompt.