![]() Much better than the previous portrait artist-that fellow we had the other day. “I could alter your cravat, as long as it’s more or less the same size, but I’d need another session to finish it.” Outwardly, my face ached with the polite smile I’d maintained for the past two and a half hours. “And if I chose a different cravat . . .” ![]() “What do you think? You could add that, couldn’t you?” “I might have some silver embroidery done about the wrists,” he said. All in all, it was a disarming quality for a creature who could murder me without rescheduling his tea. He was astonishingly vain even by fair folk standards, which is like saying a pond is unusually wet, or a bear surprisingly hairy. Oil paint needs days to dry between layers, and he had trouble understanding I couldn’t just swap his entire outfit for another he liked better. The trick with Gadfly was persuading him to wear the same clothes for every session. I had nearly perfected the color of Gadfly’s silk jacket. ![]() ![]() MY PARLOR smelled of linseed oil and spike lavender, and a dab of lead tin yellow glistened on my canvas. ![]()
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