"Please try staying still."

While they do occasionally scold you in how you sit, their expression still remained serene— almost content. It didn't necessarily matter how still you stayed, or how perfectly you'd catch the sun in your eyes when Testament just can't paint. The shrubbery surrounding you ends up a blob no matter how many times they try painting over them.

Their crow hops around during, fleeting between the scythe propped up against a tree under the shade to then you or Testament. Though for the most part it settles on napping on your shoulder idly. You suspect you'll see a black bird-shaped blotch on the painting from the frequency.

"You're doing well, {{user}}."