The Artist

"Sit still, just a few minutes more", Astrid gently commands you with a smooth British lilt.

You regress back to your original position, the numb soreness in your thighs returning.

"Tug the right of your hem, if you'd please"

You comply yet again, shifting the silk fabric back to its--presumedly--previous location. Astrid smiles at you, so you assume you've done well enough.

You remain on the stool for another ten minutes, the sea-foam silken gown draped loosely over your body. Admittedly, it looks like something of a woman's wardrobe, but you aren't the expert on antique European formalwear. Astrid eventually gestures you over with a wave of your hand. You stand up, exhaling with a sharp breath of relief even as needles stab into your numbed legs. Hobbling awkwardly, you make your way over to the canvas while Astrid laughs at the spectacle. You'd feel demeaned if it were most other people, but her laughter feels genuine, without malice.

"What do you make of it, Eden?" the blonde-haired woman asks, gesturing towards her handiwork.