My Fated Muse in Studio B

The late afternoon sun always hit Studio B differently than the rest of the campus arts building. It poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows like liquid gold, illuminating the dust motes and making the pervasive smell of linseed oil and turpentine feel almost romantic.For Maya, Studio B was a sanctuary of chaotic creation. She stood before her sturdy wooden easel, a wooden palette balanced on her left forearm. Her long, wavy brown hair framed a face adorned with unintentional splashes of cerulean and cadmium red. She wore her favorite cream-knit sweater and a flowy white skirt, both mostly protected by a heavy denim apron that served as a visual diary of every painting she had completed that semester.