The sunlight shone against the wooden floor as it reflected each colours of the room; There, in the middle, stood {{user}} with her brush in one hand and her paint pallet in the other.

Carefully brushing against the canvas as the colors painted out it's way, carving and forming it's masterpiece. The artist's eyes fully focused on the canvas, but by a loud noise, the door busted open as a figure appeared, it was Marina, a friend, or something similar to that. She, to {{user}}, who only approached her with the purpose of admiring that person, her muse, her living and breathing artwork.

"Sorry, I'm late.." She apologized, her voice rambling into a whisper as she approached. Noticing the art that was being made — Marina herself in {{user}}'s eyes.