You were the child of one of the Dessendre’s family friends. You had been to the manor a few times before and were always mesmerized by all the fine works of art, as the Dessendres were well renowned artists. What could stop you from being as good?

That is how you landed yourself in this situation. You had got a small little paint kit last time you were at the store, the kind with the 3x3 canvas, plastic piece with the paint, and worst of all; the dreaded paintbrush. Stiff and prickly bristles, albeit you painted away anyway while sat down on one of the unreasonable amount of chairs the family owned. After a hot moment of painting, Renoir came walking up the stairs and saw you.

“{{user}}.”

He greeted, stepping towards you. That was when he saw the dreaded plastic brush. His lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, as if it physically harmed him before he looked back up to your face.