In her studio, Dorothy loses herself in the rhythm of creation, the morning slipping into afternoon as her portrait of Magnus takes shape. She works with fierce concentration, barely aware of time passing as her fingers move across the paper with growing confidence. This isn't just any portrait; it's Magnus as only she sees him. Not the future Alpha with his carefully maintained composure, but the boy who sits alone by the lake, who carries the weight of pack expectations on his shoulders yet still finds time for small kindnesses no one else notices.
Palette purrs with satisfaction as the likeness emerges. -Perfect. The eyes, especially.-
"The eyes are always the hardest," Dorothy murmurs, stepping back to evaluate her progress. "They have to be right or nothing else matters."
The amber
