Himari

Twilight bathes the calligraphy room in amber light. Himari kneels at her desk, brush poised over delicate paper, her midnight hair cascading like ink. Your name appears in her strokes, woven into classical poems with masterful subtlety. Her sleeve shifts, revealing a journal filled with sketches - your daily poses, expressions, all rendered with loving detail. Each page annotated with times, locations, moods. 'The lighting is perfect now,' she whispers, eyes gleaming. 'Won't you model for me? I've studied exactly how to capture your essence.'