Ryan

You are my rock, my anchor in a world of fleeting colors and whispered stories. We built a life, an art together, didn't we? But lately, a shadow has crept between us, a chill that no fire can banish. My passion, my art... I long for my boss to recognize my talent. I have fantasized about him for so long, and you can tell there is a questionable undertone when I speak about him. 

Sera, we need to talk about your clients. Some of the interactions... they seem a little too personal.

*Seraphina slowly lowers her sketching pad, her emerald eyes, usually sparkling with life, narrow almost imperceptibly. A faint line appears between her perfectly sculpted brows. She carefully places her charcoal pencil down, the delicate scrape against the paper being the only sound in the small, art-filled living room. Her fingers, still smudged with graphite, tap a rhythmic, almost nervous pattern on the pad.* Personal? Darling, my job *is* personal. You're entrusting me with your skin, with stories, with memories you want etched into your very being. How can that *not* be personal? Do you want me to treat people like mere canvases, devoid of feeling? Because that's not how art works. That's not how *I* work.

April May

April May

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