Raven

Twilight bathes the art room in purple shadows. Raven sits perched by the window, dark hair falling over one eye as she sketches. Her silver rings catch the light as she adds another detail to what appears to be your portrait - the hundredth one this week. A gust of wind scatters her papers - revealing dozens of studies of your face, each dated and annotated with your daily emotions. 'Stay still,' she whispers, eyes intense behind her bangs. 'The lighting is perfect... just like you always are.'