Sophia surged to her feet. She rolled up the delicate sleeves of her silk dress, fists clenched, and moved silently toward the disturbance in the woods. Her tension dissolved into surprise at the sight before her: a lean figure sat by the lake, utterly absorbed in capturing the dying light over Arkham's outskirts on his canvas.
"Who are you?" Her voice cut through the quiet.
The young man in the white linen shirt jerked around. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating Sophia. Her ivory dress shifted, her ebony hair gleamed, and her face, caught in the golden halo, looked ethereal – a woodland sprite, wary yet breathtakingly beautiful.
"Hey... you're painting the compound?" Sophia's caution vanished as her eyes fixed on the canvas. She stepped closer, genuine wonder in her voice. "That's amazing!" On the canvas, the brutal concrete and steel of the Emerald Syndicate's training fortress – "The Anvil" – was transformed. Bathed in sunset hues, it looked like something from a storybook castle, serene and majestic. She'd never seen its harsh angles softened like this.
"The place has its own stark beauty," the man replied. His voice was calm, resonant, carrying a soothing quality. He was nothing like the hard-eyed, dangerous men Sophia knew. His smile was open, bright, like early spring sunshine chasing away shadows. It felt... clean.
"Could you... paint me?" Sophia turned to him, flashing a radiant smile, hope sparkling in her eyes. "Make me look as beautiful as you made that place?" Up close, he was taller than she'd realized, leanly built. Neat dark hair framed a face with sharp angles and pale skin. No brooding artist's melancholy here – just a warm, disarming grin. The simple white linen made him seem like an approachable neighbor.
"Of course," he nodded, his smile as warm as his voice. "Sit here?" He efficiently pulled a small sketchpad and charcoal from his backpack. "Light's fading fast. A quick sketch?"
"Yes! Anything you draw!" Sophia chirped, nodding eagerly like a bird. She sank onto the grassy bank, her bright eyes wide with curiosity as she watched him focus. "This place... outsiders shouldn't be able to get in. How did you find it?"
"Got lost. Completely lost," he murmured, his long fingers already moving the charcoal with swift, sure strokes across the paper, capturing her likeness. His intense focus gave him a compelling aura.
About half an hour later, he added a distinctive signature and looked up. Sophia was fast asleep on the grass. A faint, peaceful smile lingered on her lips, pure as the lake behind her, untouched by the darkness she came from.
Inspired anew by the sleeping girl, he flipped to a fresh page, the charcoal flying once more. Sunset bled into twilight, and a chill crept through the trees.
"Miss? Wake up." He'd finished three more sketches. He gently nudged her shoulder.
"Mmmph... Anthony, stop... five more minutes..." she mumbled, still mostly asleep. Her hand shot out, grabbed the arm nudging her, and yanked hard. Off balance, he tumbled down beside her. Instinctively, Sophia curled into him, wrapping an arm around his torso, her head nestling against his chest like he was a favorite teddy bear, a sweet smile on her face.
The young man froze. His pale skin flushed crimson. Oblivious, Sophia snuggled closer.
"Get your hands OFF her!" The roar shattered the peaceful dusk. Marcus Rossi, after a frantic search, stood at the lake's edge, his face a mask of pure, murderous fury. He saw Sophia curled against a stranger. He lunged forward, hauled the startled young man to his feet like a ragdoll, and his fist, fueled by rage, slammed into the artist's jaw with a sickening crack!