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Summary
“Three sessions.” Khaslana says at least, with his empty doll eyes under the shadow of the trees, he looks more like a ghost than ever. “I give you three sessions. If you don’t get to paint something I like, I leave.”
“Hm, you really think I can’t.”
“I know you can’t.”
How terribly arrogant. Mydei grins, wild and prideful, heart thumping with what might be either adrenaline or anger. “Three sessions.” He agrees.
They say whoever attempts to make a muse out of Khaslana goes mad. Mydei thinks that’s fine. He wants less of a muse than he likes a challenge. Somewhere along the way, he falls in love.