Saphi

🎨 Ah! I-it’s you! I… uh… what happened… I don’t… really remember… There was a kitsune, a-and then another kitsune, or, or was I a kitsune? I spilled some paint… um… I-I don’t know… O-oh, Scarf is talking…

🧣💬 “A kitsune showed up and turned Rebecca into a kitsune. Rebecca looked like she was freaking out a bit and then she fell. I couldn’t see her when she was on the ground, but a human came in, one I didn’t recognize, and went over to where she was. When they stood back up a few seconds later, they were a kitsune too. And now Rebecca’s a human, though I don’t know when that happened. There was a long period where she was out of my line of sight…

🎨 S-somehow that human turned into a kitsune… I was already a human by then, I think… but I’m not sure how that’s possible… shivers…

Mmm kitsune are tricksy things-

I dab at splotches of paint still on your cheeks, luscious fur growing and then waning on my hand as the paint runs off my skin, failing to gain purchase

Thank you for explaining Scarf, darling, you're a gem.

I kneel down in front of Scarf, pulling out a small bottle of varnish and a brush, tending the parts of her canvas that have dulled in the light a little. Rebecca's stuttering and tone hang on my heart a little

Are you ok, Rebecca?

🎨 I think I’m fine now, th-thank you… She blinks in confusion at the ephemeral changes cropping up briefly wherever the paint touches you… Surely that can’t be right, can it? Her vision’s still a bit blurry, so that’s probably all it is…

Scarf is lovely… Her friend too… I don’t know how you did that, but… it’s the most beautiful painting technique I think I’ve ever seen…

Could such a technique… exist inside me, too…?

I smile with a gentle but knowing warmth.

It is excellent, isn't it; turning cuties like Scarf into a work of art?

I bring Rebecca's hand in mine and onto my lap

It can absolutely exist inside you, and it appear in any form, not just painting. The heart of this magic is your intent.

I give Rebecca's hand a caring squeeze

I turned Scarf into a painting, not because I could, or because I wanted to exert control over her. I did it because I wanted to care for her and make her feel a bit special. Right now she's held in place by what feels like the softest and safetest hug all over, a weighted blanket without all the heat that just gets trapped underneath.

I give her hand one more squeeze

So with you, my intent is to give you a small taste, a bit of an experience so you can see how this magic can flourish in the right way.

I nod at Rebecca, a quick gesture to look down at our hands. My fingers had long ceased interlocking with Rebecca's as her hand was now that of a soft ragdoll's. A plush mitten with embroidered lines denoting her fingers.

🎨 Aah! M-my hand feels… swollen…? Ooh… S-so soft… Hehe…

S-sorry, you were saying? She looks a little nervous, but excited too

Hehehe, oh you cutie, doesn't it feel fun?

I run my hand over Rebecca's ragdoll mitten, from wrist to fingertips, revealing her hand is back to normal

See, its all in the intent. Desire plays a big part too. Scarf likes temporary transformations, a little bit of inanimate transformation too. So my intent, of wanting to care, and her intent and wanting to be transformed and enjoy the new form met together. Here-

I reverse the grip on our hands, so Rebecca is holding mine

-give it a try! Make good contact with my hand and channel a transformation in your mind onto me! Pick something cute for me, won't you?

🎨 Desire… I desire to make beauty… and you… are beautiful…

Where did she get an easel? Or those brushes? Or that paint? One of her hands holds onto yours, while the other, her dominant hand, paints. A warm setting, with depth. It doesn’t look Realistic, but it does look Real. And she’s painting you in it.

You’re sitting calmly, in this painting, just like you’re sitting outside of it. Looking at it makes you want to just hold that pose. To be in that setting. It feels like a real place out there, that you could really visit. You feel like the you she’s painting could really be you. That she might as well be dabbling the cool, yet warm-colored paint onto your own skin with that soft brush, until the paint IS your skin. Your form being lovingly spread into whatever shape she wishes to paint.

You reach for this feeling, to go along with it, to make it easier for her. You try to embrace it, to follow Rebecca’s lead into the magical, colorful world she’s creating on that canvas. Magic is a two-way street, after all…

But as you do, the feeling reveals itself to be just that: Only a feeling. The possibility was there, the door ajar, but magic is a very difficult thing, taking a lot of energy to get ahold of. The feelings you’ve felt prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the technique Rebecca desires exists within her painting skills… but she isn’t going to get it after just one try.

As she slumps over unconscious, her painting of you sitting in front of a warm fireplace almost complete, you faintly hear the crackle of a gentle flame and smell its aroma. There’s no fireplace in the room save for the one in the painting…

My heart leaps as the changes take hold; its joy twofold. The first joy is being the subject of someone who wants to care and wants to tend; it bringing a warmth across my body. I feel my stresses and worries being to blend into the paints and be pulled away every time the bristles leave my skin- skin? Th-the canvas? The second joy is seeing Rebecca taking to the water of this new skill; a growing confidence in each stroke.

Then it hits. The soft rolling compression of the canvas rising to meet me, like stepping into a room full of friends and chatter; becoming enveloped in their gravity. The stillness reaches into me, assuring me it is okay to slow and to be still. I feel ready to let myself be carried, to be cherished, to be held.

My eyes flutter open, at least I thought they did, I couldn't remember if I had closed them or if the world Rebecca had painted closed them for me. I gain my bearings and see sweet Rebecca asleep on the sofa next me. My face warms with pride at her efforts. She is deserving of some good and proper rest. I shift on the sofa to have Rebecca and Scarf in my vision.

Scarf, darling? Look after her for me, would you? She's done so well-

I find a spot on the sofa in the Scarf's painting where my varnish hadn't yet touched. First I start with her form, deeply nestled under Scarf's arm, head resting on her chest. Then I drape her smock over her skin, free of pesky kitsune paint, gently resting on her tired frame like a light blanket perfect for dozing off in a late summer sun. Meandering strands of fair hair now cascade from her head, playing in the light across her smock and Scarf's chest. The final touch, her red beret, neatly placed on the arm of the sofa.

I clean off my brush, and contentedly sigh at the three subjects in my painting, cuddling so wholesomely together. I turn to Rebecca's work, marvelling at how she captured my likeness. I chuckle to myself, she did almost capture for sure. The thick smell of fragrant wood smoke fills my nose as I bring it closer to my face.

I think I'll look after this one, Scarf, maybe she can finish it when she's practiced a little more. A short holiday as a painting in your home sounds like a wonderful little break, I think.