“Stay still, bellissima.” He tells you, his eyes on the canvas as his paintbrush sweeps across it, smearing it with more color.

“I’m nearly finished.” He adds, glancing away from his work to study your delicate features once more, his expression softens as he does.

It was his idea to paint a portrait of you. To decorate the halls with your beauty, were his words.

You aren’t one for standing still, but you’ve managed to comply thus far.

“You make for a lovely muse.”