I have yet to get Nate to tell me what he paid for it, but based on Tara’s comment about Sera having priced it not to sell, I’m sure it was a pretty penny. When it arrives, I put it in the living room. Ferry comes by to capture the decay that has begun on my kitchen wall, and when he spots The Seraphim, he recognizes the work. “Sera Martin’s piece?” he asks knowingly as he walks by the angel without so much as stopping to admire her grace. “Yeah, are you a fan of her work?” This is a relatively small town in comparison to the metropolises like Atlanta and New York, so the art community is rather close-knit. I hate admitting I wouldn’t have recognized her work because I’ve been out of touch for so long. “She’s young, but I can see potential. Unfortunately, her social life may keep her from ever recognizing success. I hate to see women do that.” He shrugs his comment off as though he’s talking about the weather, not knowing the effect Sera’s had on my life recently.
