Thank you for waiting.

Chapter One

    The world came into focus in the same way that an orchestra tunes its instruments. Slowly but surely, light began to weave its way into view, growing and swelling, consuming darkness.

Orleanaise opened her eyes. Up to that point, nothing had gone through her mind. Neither light nor darkness - simply a blank space, ready to be filled by whatever was currently present. Around her was a room. It smelled like candles, pastries, cigarette smoke, and mildew. Orleanaise couldn't tell that the smells were more than a single scent. The room was barely lit, fairy lights on the ceiling, casting a rainbow downwards. A window stretched along the far wall, night-time city lights pouring through. The carpet below her feet was soft and lush. There was a bit of classical music playing through the air.

She closed her eyes and smiled. She felt warm.

"Well," asked a voice nearby. He cleared his throat. "You going to say something?"

Her eyes flew open and her hands instinctively folded in front of her. "I.. Good morning."

A young man was standing in front of her. He was sporting unusually sharp features and greasy black hair. His composure was relaxed, his face slack, dressed in a red beanie and a similarly shaded jacket. There were deep circles under his eyes, a clipboard in one hand, and a towel in the other. He held out the towel. "You'll want this."

"W-Why?"

He stepped over, picking up the towel and wiping off a part of her face. It felt dry, and the towel was discolored white and red. "Dry yourself off. You're covered in paint."

She began to do as she was told, taking the towel from him and wiping herself down. She didn't quite realize until that moment that she was very wet, paint beading up all over her skin and dress, but as she cleaned it away, the color of both stayed the same. She had painfully bright skin that hurt her eyes to even look at, at least with the room's current lighting. She was wearing a cherry red dress, a solid texture, that nestled around her neck and stretched down to just above her knees, leaving her shoulders exposed. She had never seen another person besides this boy and herself, and yet she still felt as if her frame was very petite, and thus it only took a single towel for her to become dry.

He took a glance at the watch on his wrist. "I've got five minutes. We're going to run through a quick checklist and send you off. You want a cookie?"

Her eyes widened. "Cookie?"

He pointed behind her towards the opposite wall. "Behind the canvas. On the piano. My girlfriend made too many. Help yourself."

Behind her was, as the man said, an enormous canvas next to a grand piano. Paints and easels were messily scattered across the floor nearby, and atop the grand piano was a silver platter with several round biscuits. She picked up one and took a small bite. A spark, a glimmer of warmth filled her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, savoring the feeling. And then she took another bite. And another.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" asked the man, holding up a hand.

She took the last bite of her treat. "Three?"

He nodded. "And your name?"

"Or- O-Or," she replied, struggling to pronounce her own name.

He smirked. "Orleanaise."

"Oh..-lee-oh...-nah-ah...-sue?" Her tone was tentative and embarrassed.

"Close enough." The man pulled out a card from his jacket pocket. "Toa. I'm your artist."

She blinked. "I don't understand."

"It's okay. Your client can help you with that." Setting down his clipboard, he grabbed a rectangular object that was leaning against the wall. He turned it around, leaning it backward in an upright position, revealing it to be a mirror. "Let me know if anything needs to be changed. I mean, it's you, be objective; I can't fix anything now. Any suggestions will have to be for future projects."