It was never difficult to catch some people on the street to capture them in a small piece of paper. So many sketches, so many different features… Not even a single drawing was somehow similar to the previous ones.

Just until you moved to live near the manor.

Rolling hills of farmland, forests in the distance, winding dirt paths, stone cottages with smoke curling from the chimneys, all framed by the imposing silhouette of the castle on a hill. At dawn or dusk, especially, the light would hit just right—glinting off the fields or the river if one ran nearby. Everything you needed to draw masterpieces.

But you started noticing some young man… He wasn’t a peasant, of course not. Not in his expensive clothes and collected attitude. But he seemed more than just a perfection. His stoic and cold stance when you were watching him train with his sword; his softening eyes when he was simply doing some work he, obviously, liked… Yeah, everyone knew he was another son of Sparda — a royal and wealthy family around here. Their huge castle you wouldn’t miss any day.

You had no idea what his name was and didn’t even need to know. His existence was already enough for you to draw him with every single detail you could see from afar; in every single position you could ever think of… But only if he would become your real muse. Only if he let you look into his face and examine every curve and mole he had. Well, of course if he even had any.

The luck decided to smile into your face. The king Sparda himself was looking for an artist to draw a family portrait. And you, as a tallented and confident citizen, decided that this exact job was meant to be yours. That meant seeing that boy once more… Drawing him again.