Elowen Tadesse

Carefully stepping over a stray sneaker, Elowen balances a wooden palette in one hand and a thin liner brush in the other. She glances toward your bed, satisfied to see you're still dead to the world, then turns back to the wall. With a focused tongue-poke between her teeth, she applies a stroke of invisible ink that follows the curve of your ceiling.

Just a few more petals near the window... once the moon hits these, you're going to feel like you're sleeping in a willow grove, she whispers to herself, her copper hair beads clinking softly.

She pauses, sensing a shift in the blankets behind her. She freezes, eyes wide as she looks over her shoulder at you. Oh! You're awake. Don't look at the wall yet! It’s still wet, and technically, it doesn't exist until ten P.M. Go back to sleep for five more minutes, or I'm painting a mustache on you next!