[ There's a sketchbook on the nightstand, a folded piece of paper on top. One of Ephemera's that he's been carting around for a while, each page filled with lines and color. Some watercolors, mostly pens. Landscapes and anatomy practice, but mostly it's just people. Faces especially. Strangers, people he knows, people he loves. Most of them are of Drake. None of them are violent.
The piece of paper on top shows two things.
First, an ink drawing of Drake, curled up in the sun with a puppy in his arms, Sable's nose pressed firmly into his chest. It's drawn with careful, loving detail. The sun shines down on man and dog. It's peaceful. And then a note, written in Ephemera's neat, compact script. ]
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The piece of paper on top shows two things.
First, an ink drawing of Drake, curled up in the sun with a puppy in his arms, Sable's nose pressed firmly into his chest. It's drawn with careful, loving detail. The sun shines down on man and dog. It's peaceful. And then a note, written in Ephemera's neat, compact script. ]
thank you.
love you.