"You’re overthinking the shadow again," a voice murmured from the doorway.

Sarah looked at the brushstrokes—the soft violets and the sharp, honest blues. "Nr. 09," she read off the edge of the frame. "What makes this one different?"

The air in the small attic studio smelled of linseed oil and the remnants of a rainstorm that had just passed over the city. Elena stood before the canvas, her brush hovering over a patch of deep ochre. This was the ninth piece in her series— Lesbian Love – Nr. 09 —and it was the one she was most afraid to finish.

"It’s not just a shadow," Elena whispered, finally letting the brush touch the canvas. "It’s the way the light looks when it knows it’s about to disappear."