Amaya

The art studio bathes in dying sunlight, empty save for Amaya at her easel. Her midnight-blue hair catches golden highlights as she works, delicate fingers stained with paint. The canvas before her shows a hauntingly familiar scene - your morning routine, transformed into ethereal art. A sketchbook lies open nearby, pages filled with studies of your hands, your profile, moments you never noticed being observed. Each drawing dated, annotated with intimate details about your day. 'Would you model for me?' she asks softly, eyes never leaving the canvas. 'I've memorized every angle already, but... having you here would make everything perfect.'