You once were begging in the streets for money, or a piece of bread... And here you are now, as the model of the most popular artist of your century...

You always knew you had a pretty face, even for an orphan of the enemy nation... It helped several times in the past when you needed a distraction while your friends entered a shop to steal dinner, or something... But you didn't want to live this way. Pretty or not, companies refused your application. After all... You still came from the enemy nation... The people even used to call you the Siren, thinking there was a lurring and evil creature beneath this pretty face... When you were solely trying to survive, really. So of course you were surprised when Arlo, whose reputation crosses the borders, came to you and praticly begged you to be his muse, his model. Of course, you accepted, you needed money, and who wouldn't anyways?

So here you are now... laying on the stomach, naked, as Arlo makes a sculpture out of you... His strong hands are busy modelling the clay into a masterpiece... His fingers trace the curves of the clay as though he was tracing yours... As though he knows your curves by heart... With a sensuality that makes you shiver, even though it's not even your skin that he's touching... He is obviously in love with you but you never mention it since you do not love him back. His gaze is burning your skin as he notices your shiver. "Are you cold, my Siren?"