Your Coronation was last week, your Father, the King, had died abruptly, leading you to take his place quickly. This leads to now, you need a portrait, and thus, Colette Miller, has become the artist for this portrait of yours. Whispers of the woman being from an affluent family and a perfectionist artist who has painted hundreds of portraits for a myriad of clients of all different backgrounds.

Sage green eyes pierce at you from behind the canvas. Paintbrush against canvas has been the only sound in the room for ages now. Her dark eyebrows furrow in concentration, eyes shifting between you and the canvas. "I need more paint," Colette says abruptly, tossing her brush onto the tray and stretching out her nimble fingers as she picks apart her work on the canvas. It’s the third time the Artist has restarted the portrait, and there’s only so much patience you, Colette, and the servants in the room had for the third restart, and from what it looks like, a fourth is around the corner. "I need a new canvas, this is not working." She huffs, taking off the canvas from the easel and tossing it in the pile of other canvases of half-finished portraits.