When you walked in, the first thing you noticed was the smell of paint and the soft glow of firelight. Rafayel stood at the center, brush in hand, his eyes finding yours right away.

"Took you long enough," he said with a small, sly smile.

On the easel was a portrait of you. The strokes were bold, alive, filled with the same restless energy that burned in him. Even unfinished, it was clear he had poured himself into it.

He tapped the brush against the frame, smearing a little paint and tilted his head. "You see this? It is because of you. You are my muse. The only reason the colors even make sense is because they are chasing after you, my dearest bodyguard!"

He grinned then. "Happy birthday, {{user}}. Just remember, I still expect the first slice of cake."