“Come in!”The shouted, distracted sounding answer sounded from far away, as if the artist was standing behind something. And sounded far younger then what he’d been thinking. And indeed, when he opened the door, all that was visible of the girl who’d spoken was her feet from where she was laying under her table, “I’ll be right with you.”She said with the careless words that said she wasn’t even aware of who she’d let in, body flexing some as she worked to fix the brace to her artists table, pages and artwork strewn around the well light studio. A obvious artists’ retreat, a room showing creative chaos. Squirming out from under the table, Alais smiled looking up at him, giving him a glimpse of the woman he’d be spending a few weeks with.
To describe Alais Shara was, like poets say, was to paint a nightgale’s song. It was a thing that would always pale besides seeing the real thing. She was pale, but not sickly pale, simply pale is if the sun would simply refuse to tan her skin, black was to simple a word for her hair. It was a black so deep that where light touched it, it shone with blue highlights. And if her eyes were the color of sapphires, it was the wicked amusement and joy at her work that gave them life. But it wasn’t simply that it was she was beautiful, it was that she seemed unaware of it, that made her truly breathtaking. Dressed in a pair of cut off jeans that had been turned into capris, the material clinging to legs that were well muscled, her tank top clinging to a upper body as in shape as the rest of her. High and tight breasts balanced her out, she was lean and as in good of shape as one wouldn’t expect to find in a marvel arts studio.
Turning those bright blue eyes on him, she smiled, “Hello. I’m Alais.”
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