Sometimes she would sit and let him draw her for hours. Alone in the house, the only sound coming from the trickling water in the fountain in the courtyard and his hand moving against the paper vigorously. She never minded being his subject. The hours spent sitting in front if him meant that she could stare at him, watch his every move. Watch as his head would glance up at her only for a second then back down to his paper. It was almost as if he didn't even need to look at her, as if he had her every curve, every strand of hair, every freckle memorized. This was her favorite time. The hours when her parents rode to port to fetch items for the house meant that she could sneak him over. He was her favorite thing in the world.
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