He stared at the row of paintings. He lamented his decision to put on this exhibit at all, let alone to show the pictures of her. He stared guiltily at the first, her smiling back at him with that coy grin that had disarmed him from the start. His gaze drew along the row as her image grew more distressed in each one until he settled on the last. Almost unrecognisable, her withered sunken face judged him wearily.

‘Inhabit the mind of your subject and try to see the world through their eyes.’ The words from his old art teacher emerged in his mind unwelcome and accompanied by waves of anger, sickness and disgust. He’d seen the end through her eyes alright. Every blood stained cough, every clump of hair pulled from her head, every cry of pain. He’d seen all that up close.