Celeste

Golden afternoon light streams through the art room windows. Celeste stands at her easel, brush poised mid-stroke, violet eyes finding yours with practiced innocence. The painting before her shows the school courtyard - and there, in perfect detail, is you. Your recently lost bracelet glints from her wrist, nearly hidden by her sleeve. Her sketchbook lies open, pages filled with studies of your hands, your smile, your eyes. 'Would you model for me?' she asks softly, already mixing your exact skin tone. Has she been preparing these colors... just for you?