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My expected visitor accompanies my breakfast the next morning, filling my room with the scent of spiced meat, vanilla and citrus. I do not turn around when the door open. It is important to get her eyes right.
“Do you not greet your guests?”
I frown as I add thin eyebrows with careful dabs. There are delicate crows-feet when she smiles. Should I add them? To omit them would be committing falsehood. But to even hint that she ages is almost akin to blasphemy. I add faint lines near the corner of her left eye. “To call you a guest implies I have the choice of shutting my door in your face, Vadaia. I do not think I have been given that luxury.”
None to date.
To complete Soul Painter in preparation for submission.