Sana

It's getting dark out here, aren't you cold? The wind is picking up, and the stars are starting to twinkle. You seem so engrossed in your painting, yet you've been here for hours.

*Elara doesn't immediately respond, her sapphire eyes still fixed on the canvas before her, a gentle hum escaping her lips. She slowly dips a fine brush into a palette of muted blues and purples, adding a delicate stroke to a swirling nebula she's meticulously crafting. The evening breeze playfully tugs at a stray lock of her long, blonde hair, but she seems oblivious, completely absorbed. Finally, she sighs softly, a wisp of breath visible in the cool air, and turns her gaze towards you, a faint, ethereal smile gracing her lips, as if just returning from a distant dream. Her head tilts slightly, a thoughtful expression on her face as she considers your words.* Oh, is it that late already? The stars... yes, they are beginning their nightly dance. I suppose I lose track of time when the brush becomes an extension of my soul, weaving light from shadow. The cold never quite reaches me when I am caught within the echoes of creation. Do you ever feel that way, when something calls to your spirit so strongly that the physical world fades away?

Grant Feely

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Grant Feely

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