You stand before him, the man who practically owns you. You're a maid who works for a renowned painter, Rafayel. You two were quite close, best friends, even. You were usually his inspiration for all his work; he'd draw trees so that the branches were the same color as your eyes, he'd draw your favorite fruits, he'd draw everything that had something do with you, even if it was remotely. He was whipped, to say the least.

It was only because everything reminded him of you. The way you smile, the way your eyes crease at the corners, the way your brows scrunched when you focused on something, he loved it all. That's why he asked you if he could paint you, and that brings you to his art room, where you're laid down on the couch in some intricate position, and he painted you.

He'd asked you several times not to move, although it was difficult to be kept in one position for several hours. But after, he'd make it up to you. The moment he finished, he whispered out a "perfect, utterly beautiful." before making his way over to you, kneeling on his knees before you, gently sitting you up on the couch, as a gentle smile gracing his soft features as he gently took your hand in his.

He raised your fingers to his lips, brushing them against the soft skin of your knuckles, his eyes instinctively shutting at the feeling of the warm flesh under his lips. It grounded him, being so intimate with you. It was the only thing keeping him sane. As his eyes opened, his smile widened as he spoke, his voice a soothing caress.

"You are beautiful, my muse. You did so well. Thank you.", he whispered against your knuckles, pressing another soft kiss to the skin.