E
Elian did not buy paint. He distilled it. He crushed rubies for red, lapis lazuli for blue, and dreams for gold.
Whatever Elian painted became real. When he painted a feast, the table groaned with food. When he painted a door on a solid wall, he could walk through it.
But Elian was lonely. He lived in a tower of his own creation, surrounded by painted birds that sang painted songs.
"I need a companion," he decided.
He set up his easel. He spent weeks mixing the perfect skin tone. He painted a woman. She was beautiful, with eyes like the sea and a smile like the dawn.
He signed the canvas. Seraphina.
The paint shimmered. Seraphina stepped out of the frame. She was warm. She breathed.
"Hello, Elian," she said.
They were happy for a time. They walked in painted gardens and sailed on painted seas. But Seraphina grew sad.
"What is wrong?" Elian asked.
"I am perfect," Seraphina said. "I never age. I never hunger. I never cry. It is... boring."
Elian frowned. "I made you perfect because I love you."
"No," she said gently. "You made me perfect because you are afraid of mess. Life is messy, Elian. Life is fading colors and cracked canvas."
She took a brush. She dipped it in grey paint. She painted a streak of grey in her own hair. She painted wrinkles around her eyes.
"Stop!" Elian cried. "You are ruining the masterpiece!"
"I am making it real," she countered.
She handed him the brush. "Paint me a flaw, Elian. Give me a scar. Give me a bad day. Let me be human."
Elian looked at her. He saw the love in her imperfect eyes. With a trembling hand, he took the brush. He painted a tear on her cheek.
The tear fell. It hit the floor with a splash. It was salt water.
Seraphina smiled. It was a crooked smile now, but it was the most beautiful thing Elian had ever seen.