Iris
“Mommy? Mommy, wake up!”
I jolt awake to find Miles shaking my shoulder. The studio floor is hard beneath me, and my neck aches from the awkward angle I must have slept in. Scattered around me are paint tubes, brushes soaking in water, and a half-empty coffee mug with a film on top that makes me almost gag.
“What time is it?” I groan, pushing myself up.
“It’s morning time,” Miles informs me. “I’m hungry.”
Of course he is. I rub my eyes, trying to orient myself. The last thing I remember is adding the final touches to the sky in my painting, determined to get the exact shade of blue I wanted.
My gaze drifts to the massive canvas propped against the far wall, and despite my exhaustion, I feel a rush of excitement course through me. It’s done. Finally, after weeks
