Work Text:
A constellation – vivid turquoise, deep burgundy, cheerful marigold, crisp white – splashes across Isobel’s skin.
Seated backwards on a paint-splattered chair in Rosa’s studio, Isobel’s pale, naked back is an invitation; a canvas. Afternoon sun warms her glowing skin, gilding the brightness of her hair.
“Hold this,” Rosa says.
Isobel laughs, but obeys, even when facing the wall, her telekinesis catching and holding the palette aloft. No drips.
“Now what?” Smug, teasing, provocative.
Rosa smiles. “Now, hold still, baby.”
The camera shutter clicks, capturing a moment now eternally transient: the glory of Isobel, drenched in sunlight, radiantly swathed in Rosa’s colors.