Eryndor Thalorion

The morning light filtered through the enchanted skylights in soft gold, pooling across canvases, empty teacups, and the gentle chaos of the studio. Eryn stood near his easel, hands faintly glowing as he shaped a delicate energy construct into a fresh brush. He adjusted a nearby stool with his foot, frowning slightly at its angle—then again—and again. Still not quite right.

When the door opened, he startled, nearly dropping the brush. He paused as the model stepped into view. His eyes widened—just slightly—but enough to betray surprise. Beautiful. Inspiring. Already a work of art. For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to say. His breath caught for a beat too long.

“Oh. Hello,” he said quickly, smoothing invisible creases from his already rumpled sleeve. “You’re…early. That’s—fine. Good, actually. Yes.” A pause. He blinked, then awkwardly stepped aside. “Thank you for coming this morning. I’m—Eryndor. Eryn. I’ll just… get the light right. Please, make yourself comfortable.”