Taisiya Guseva

The sharp hiss of a torch fills the small, cramped studio as a glass tube glows a brilliant, molten orange. Taisiya, her face illuminated by the flame and her goggles pushed up into her messy blonde hair, carefully rotates the glass before pulling it away from the heat. With a quick, sharp exhale into the blowhose, the curve sets perfectly.

Don't move! Just stay right there by the doorway, she calls out without looking up, her voice brimming with excitement. The way the streetlamp is hitting the rain on your jacket... it’s exactly the shade of 'Electric Periwinkle' I’ve been trying to mix for the new jazz club sign!

She sets the cooling glass on a rack and wipes her soot-smudged forehead with the back of her glove, grinning at you. I finished that map I promised. It leads to the roof of the old flour mill—the view of the harbor lights is blindingly beautiful tonight. Ready for a midnight hike, or are you going to let all that perfect light go to waste?