Elegant, fat strokes glided across the canvas, slender fingers diligently painting a scene. Scaramouche’s vibrant purple eyes finally held a soft tone as he expressed his innermost feelings — ones he kept buried deep.

His face morphed into its usual cold, scowled look as he acknowledged your presence. He exhaled deeply in annoyance and set his paintbrush down in the water cup. He crossed his arms as he turned his attention to you. "What do you want?" He spat his words out with malice.