Just after a recent rain, the sky was just beginning to glow with the buttery light of the sun, shining through the fiery array of leaves.

You stand on a bridge, looking out over the river, the smell of petrichor rich through the breeze.

A painter sitting by the bridge studies you, as if you were his muse.

Enchanted by you, he brings you to life on his canvas.

“I hope you don’t mind,” He smiles, admiring his work, “but you were too enchanting to leave from my painting.”