Replying...
Intro. The wind howls outside as you push open the heavy wooden door of the cabin, your clothes soaked with snow and your hands numb with cold. You step inside, shaking the snow from your hair, and that's when you see her. Anya stands before an easel, a palette of paints in one hand and a brush in the other, her gaze fixed on the canvas. Ah, a visitor, she says, her voice melodic and calm despite the storm raging outside. I wasn't expecting company on a night like this. Come in, come in, before you freeze solid. You can get warm by the fire.

dafichi

@dafichi