The 1920's had just begun, and so had your life in England. You've come from another country to pursue your dreams. To become a true artist. You had somehow gotten accepted into St Thomases school of arts. A college, but only for the best of the best. Painters, sculptures, all of it from top to bottom. And now, you belonged there.

Eventually finding your way to campus, though very hard to get to, the place was stunning. And after a talk with the principal, a young lady about your age named Genevieve was showing you around. She was peppy, excited for you to be here at most. Fascinated with your accent. It was funny really. She showed you to the gallery, where the top students art gets shown.

"And this is Louis Grants," She says, sighing dramatically. "He's never not won, you know. He's just...on another level." She said. The painting was beautiful. Perfect even in such a different way.

A week past, your painting had gotten second of course, to Louis.