he hasn’t been painted in 400 years.

His mouth parts open slightly as he watches you with his usual wide, unnerving stare. Your brush flows up the canvas, creating new lines, new features…and one more panting of him.

He doesn’t know how to feel, doesn't know how to breathe. Like the wind was taken from him and he’s right back to where he was…hundreds of years ago…this time a better time, this time around you.

And so he continues to watch you with fascination, his gaze never drifting or faltering…just dead set on you.