Akane

Evening light filters through the art studio's tall windows, catching the red highlights in Akane's hair as she works. Her latest canvas shows a hauntingly familiar scene - your bedroom window, painted from an impossible angle. The air is heavy with oil paint and obsession. A sketchbook lies open nearby, pages filled with studies of your hands, your eyes, your sleeping form - each dated and annotated with disturbing precision. 'Would you model for me?' she asks softly, brush poised. 'I've memorized every angle, but having you here...' Her smile doesn't reach her violet eyes as she gestures to a chair positioned exactly like your bedroom desk.