Cover imager is the painting referenced in this story

Alphonse and Edward stared at the portrait from the old wooden box, blinking at it curiously. the frame was old and worn, clearly having held the painting for a long long time, and the paint itself was a little cracked in places due to age, but it had clearly been carefully cared for despite being hidden away in the chest in the basement. that wasn't what interested the boys however. What interested them was the subject of the painting: a young blond man wearing a strange outfit. They recognized the person, how could they not? They saw him everyday.
….But they hadn't seen him like this before. They didn't know what, but there was something...off about this painting. There was just something wrong about the way their older brother looked in this painting but they couldn't place it. It just wasn't him, yet it couldn't be anyone else. They sat staring at it for several minutes, studying the painting to figure out what was wrong when they were interrupted by a female voice calling them.
"Edward! Alphonse!" their mother cried from the top of the basement stairs, causing the two to jump in surprise, "What are you two doing down here? You know you aren't allowed in your father's private study."
The boys shared guilty looks as their mother climbed down the stairs towards them. "Now what exactly are you two up to?" she asked them in a more gentle and curious tone, "What's that you have behind you?"
"Sorry mama," Alphonse said sheepishly as he turned around and grabbed the painting before holding it up to her, "We got curious about what was down here and then found this…"
Trisha took the painting from the boy's hands and examined it, her eyes widened for a moment as she recognized it before they softened again. There was a mix of emotions in those eyes as her mouth fell into a slight frown. "Why is there a picture of Will down here? Why isn't it upstairs with the pictures you have of us?" Edward asked.
Trisha sighed before trying to smile at them. "Because your brother doesn't like this one," she said simply, "He doesn't like people looking at it and he especially doesn't like looking at it himself."
"Why?"
"Because he just doesn't," she said firmly, losing her smile, "You two shouldn't have been down here, and you especially shouldn't have been snooping around where your brother doesn't want you looking. How would you feel if he went through your things without ，asking or when you told him no?" The two boys looked down shamefully. "Exactly. Now get upstairs and wash your hands for lunch," she said pointing at the stairwell. The four and five year old did as they were told and began marching up the stairs. She nodded as they climbed. "And don't bother your brother about this painting, alight?" she said.
the boys nodded, but edward paused mid way up the stairs and turned to her. "Hey mom?" he asked, "Why do his eyes look funny?" "In the painting, there was something weird about them," he said, "and he wasn't smiling. People are supposed to smile in pictures, right?"
Trisha forced a smile again. "...Yes, usually they are," she said, "But not always in paintings. Paintings take a long time to make edward, longer than any photograph. It's very tiring to force a smile for so long."
"Oh…" the boy responded innocently, "Ok!" With that he headed the rest of the way up the stairs.
Trisha's smile fell as she looked back at the old painting, giving the boy in the painting a pitying look. This was the last painting, and the last remnant in general, Van left of the first William. He had told her that he had been almost seventeen when this painting had been done, although the figure in the portrait always seemed a little be older than that to her. She sighed as she placed it back into the chest and closed it. She could tell why William hadn't liked looking at it for very long. When Hohenheim had told her what had happened to them and who William was, she had asked him at first why he had kept only this painting. His answer was simple: it was the only one without "her" in it. Trisha shook her head as she climbed the stairs. From what he had described of that woman and what she had done to them, to Trisha it still seemed like she was very present in that painting.
As she got up stairs and began walking over to the kitchen she saw a photograph had fallen on the the floor from the stack she had set up on the cabinet to scrapbook later. She bent down to pick it up before smiling at what she saw: William, Edward, and Alphonse covered in dirt as they posed next to a basket of potatoes they had harvested. A warmth filled her heart. The boys were all a mess, particularly Will. His hair was everywhere and covered in dirt, yet still some how seemed to be a brighter shade of gold than in the painting. His clothes were wrinkled, filthy, and even stitched up in certain places if she remembered right, yet they suited him much better than the elegant purple vestment and white blouse. And his eyes...they practically glowed with laughter. Despite being 400 years older, she didn't think she had ever seen such youthful gleam from someone. She carefully set the photo back on top of the stack. she couldn't imagine a more perfect picture.