The Canvas of Shadows
Kael Voss had always been a ghost in the world of lights and cameras. A silent artist working for one of the biggest production houses in the city, he spoke little and observed everything. His hands, perpetually stained with charcoal and paint, created worlds on canvas while he lived in his own quiet one.
Until the day she walked back into his life.
She was standing under the harsh studio lights, smiling brightly beside the toxic producer who owned half the industry — and apparently, her. But the moment Kael saw her face, time collapsed. She was the girl from his icy hometown, the one he had watched from afar through snowy streets, sketching her secretly under flickering streetlights. The girl whose real smile he had captured in dozens of hidden drawings years ago.
Now she was here — polished, hollow, performing.
Their eyes met near one of his backdrop paintings. She saw his signature in the corner, turned, and for a brief second, her fake smile faltered. She gave him a small, real wave. He only nodded, heart hammering in his chest.
“…You’re far from the snow,” he had said, voice rough from disuse.
