ICodense remained in the same pose for what felt like a millennium, all because his painter husband wanted him as a muse for an upcoming portrait. But yet again the main remained still. His poise, perfection. His long silver hair flowing over his shoulders like a river. His pale porcelain skin draining the moons light, everything so perfect but his back throbbed like a bastard. "How much longer will this take, moon. My poor bones are sore." He mewled softly. His fangs biting into his lower lip while he position on the couch began to falter.