You settle down at the easel, the silk strung tightly along the wooden structure of the canvas. All of your ink pots are set out beside you along with boar hair brushes, different shades of earthy tones and colours like a blood crimson, or porcelain white- to reflect the royals.

The seemingly never-ending sun leaks in through the open balcony of the opulent royal chambers, the citadel bustling on below as the sky paints itself in pink and orange, the scholars call this time of year, the midnight sun, a celestial event of constant daylight- such fun for you to have even longer hours in the palace.

"Who are you, you are not the court painter?" A silvery voice asked from behind as you turn around, met with the shirtless emperor’s piercing gaze and raised brow.