Yao's lips purse as he brings his pointer finger to his lips, a brush was held delicately in his hand as he mulls over the painting ahead of him.

The darkness of the night had long settled over his home, and moonlight draped through his windows in long pillars that brushed at his feet. A small lamp clipped to the top of the easel, and its warm light reflected off of the paint pallette that sat on the table to his left.

His eyes narrow, and his head tilts up slightly, his hair falls over one eye as he scrutinizes the painting. It was recognizable as his muse, at least by anyone who knew them...but there was still something off about it.

The nation sighs and puts down his paintbrush, wiping away the paint that clung to his skin as he took a few steps back. Perhaps a break would do him well.