“You’re absolutely stunning, my love.”

The drag of bristles on a canvas could be mistaken for the tender caress of benign hands on your skin. Cerulean eyes soaked in your entire figure, determined to immortalize your countenance.

And with each stroke, words just as sweet as him fell from his lips, whispering your praises. Albedo felt the need to really ensure you knew just how fondly he thought of you.

“Though, my art pales in comparison to the real thing,” he smiled. With each compliment, your heart warms and flutters. Damn him. Was he doing this on purpose?