#WritcoStoryChallenge
The painting was yellowed with rounded edges. It was a masterpiece and it was lying in my hand. Wait, have I stolen it? I don't remember...
No surely not?

I take a look around and realise I don't know how I got here. I'm in a dark Parisian hotel room with peeling wall paper and the distinct, musty smell of damp, past residents and their "romantic" antics.

A half drunk coffee is sat on the sideboard next to an upturned kettle which had already spilled it's watery...