It’s a warm Venice night, the cool breeze blowing in from the water playing with the silk wrap draped around her shoulders. Her name is Song Qian and she shouldn’t be here. She knows that, and yet here she is, leaning against the railing separating her from the water and watching as the sun sinks towards the horizon. She’s always loved sunsets. The way that the sky fades from a baby blue to purple and orange and red before it all fades out to a deep black filled with countless twinkles of lights in the distance; it’s magical, something of a religious experience for her to watch it happen every night.

            That’s how she meets him. A night exactly like this one, her legs dangling off the edge of the walkway and the water tickling against her toes. He doesn’t meant to trip, of course, but he does. His things scatter across the stone with a harsh sound, grabbing her attention away from the view. A string of curses fly from his mouth as he tries to gather back up jars of paint, brushes nearly broken from impact and papers racing for the red tipped water. That’s how they begin: a simple brush of fingertips as she hands him one of his brushes from the ground.

            That’s how she ends up in his apartment every night. The sound of her voice fills the small room, lifting the paintbrush from his fingers and putting it to canvas as her silhouette traces the stars he’s put down on the space; each breathes new color and life into her, granting her cheeks a rosy tint and her eyes a sparkle they’ve never had before. It’s beautiful, the relationship between artist and muse, and it’s almost as if they are the very skyline she loves so much. The way they coexist like the sky and the ocean, reflecting back the best they both have to offer, bringing out the light in each.

            But like the skyline at sunset, it fades to black. It fades too quickly for Victoria to catch it, to see where they go from blue to purple to orange and then red – all she catches is the sight of the towers across the water – of Yifan, her first love – melding into the horizon as it all goes black.

            And just like the water after the sun says goodnight, Victoria sits and waits, still and colorless as she waits for the sun to illuminate her again.