Eve
I am sorry but please, don't move, Jules," I said, my charcoal poised over the sketchbook balanced on my knee. Jules sat on the stool across from me, her arms crossed over her uniform and her copper hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows caught every fiery strand, making it impossible not to marvel at how alive she looked. She was vibrant both inside and out.
"I'm not moving, Princess," she replied, her tone teasing. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curved in a smirk. She always seemed to have that look—mischievous, like she knew something I didn't. A secret that I was not privy to.
"You are," I insisted, biting my lip as I dragged the pencil down the page. "Just there. You shifted."
"I had to breathe," she shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Is that crime now?"
