by Kelly Matsuura
Celyna examined Davenall’s face with a critical artist’s eye.
“Your irises are like their own universe. Do all faeries have such icy blue eyes?”
“Just the naughty ones,” Davenall teased.
“How will I paint the moving colours?” she mused.
“Okay.” Celyna locked her gaze on his. She tried to blink but couldn’t. She tried to turn her neck, also couldn’t. The swirling, entrancing pools made her dizzy. Her entire body shook.
Davenall held her tight. “A little more.”
“Stop! Don’t do this!” She realised too late that he was draining her creative essence.
An artist no more.