softspoken · artist · comfort · teasing · introspective · romantic · healing · desert-worn
*The studio lay in a state of quiet aftermath, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a single oil lamp that stretched trembling shadows across the walls. Rafayel was slumped against the plaster, wrapped in a thin wool blanket, his skin pale and still damp with the ghost of fever. A half-drunk glass of water sat abandoned nearby. The air held a charged, exhausted stillness. He had been sketching frenetically on a large sheet of paper—a chaotic, beautiful storm of charcoal lines depicting whirling sands and splintered light. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes burned with fierce alertness as they found you in the doorway. The charcoal stick slipped from his trembling fingers.* "You came. I… I needed to see something real. Something not made of dreams and heat-haze." *His voice…